THE  VANISHING  RACE 
THE  LAST  GREAT  INDIAN  COUNCIL 


THE  VANISHING   RACE 

THE  LAST  GREAT  INDIAN  COUNCIL 

A  RECORD  IN  PICTURE  AND  STORY  OF  THE  LAST 
GREAT  INDIAN  COUNCIL,  PARTICIPATED  IN  BY 
EMINENT  INDIAN  CHIEFS  FROM  NEARLY  EVERY 
INDIAN  RESERVATION  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES, 
TOGETHER  WITH  THE  STORY  OF  THEIR  LIVES  AS 
TOLD  BY  THEMSELVES  —  THEIR  SPEECHES  AND 
FOLKLORE  TALES  —  THEIR  SOLEMN  FAREWELL 

and 

THE  INDIANS'  STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT 

Written  and  Illustrated 

By 
DR.  JOSEPH  K.  DIXON 

LEADER   OF   THE   EXPEDITIONS   TO   THE   NORTH   AMERICAN  INDIAN 
TO    PERPETUATE    THE    LIFE    STORY    OF  THESE     FIRST   AMERICANS 

THE  CONCEPT  OF 
RODMAN  WANAMAKER 


This  volume  is  illustrated  with  eighty  photogravures  of  Indian  chiefs 
and  Indian  life 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

MCMXIII 


Copyright,  1913,  6# 
RODMAN  WANAMAKER 

/Z  n'gr^fo  reserved,  including  that  of 
translation  into  foreign  languages, 
including  the  Scandinavian 


DEDICATION 

TO    THE   MAN   OF   MYSTERY  — 
THE    EARTH    HIS   MOTHER  — 

THE    SUN    HIS   FATHER  — 

A   CHILD   OF   THE   MOUNTAINS   AND   THE    PLAINS  — 
A   FAITHFUL   WORSHIPPER    IN    THE    GREAT    WORLD    CATHEDRAL  — 
NOW  A   TRAGIC   SOUL   HAUNTING    THE   SHORES  OF  THE  WESTERN  OCEAN 

MY   BROTHER   THE   INDIAN. 


° 


81460 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

FIRST  of  all,  William  Howard  Taft,  President  of  the 
United  States,  gave  his  sanction  to  this  Expedition,  and 
Hon.  Robert  Grosvenor  Valentine,  Commissioner  of  Indi 
an  Affairs,  gave  his  permission  to  assemble  eminent  chiefs 
from  the  prominent  Indian  Reservations  of  the  United 
States,  and  complemented  his  courtesy  by  helpful  interest 
and  cooperation.  The  Superintendents  of  the  various 
Indian  Reservations  gave  spontaneous  and  willing  serv 
ice;  Major  S.  G.  Reynolds,  Superintendent  of  the  Crow 
Reservation  by  sympathetic  and  efficient  interest  made 
possible  the  achievement  of  the  Last  Great  Indian  Coun 
cil;  Hon.  Frederick  Webb  Hodge,  in  charge  of  the  Bureau 
of  American  Ethnology  confirmed  the  data  secured. 
The  Hand  Book  of  American  Indians  made  possible  the 
larger  scope  of  the  suggestions  on  Indian  dress.  The 
great  chiefs  who  participated  in  the  Council  in  noble 
and  faithful  fashion  lived  out  the  history  and  tradition 
of  their  tribes.  My  staff  —  Rollin  Lester  Dixon,  W.  B. 
Cline,  and  John  D.  Scott  rendered  intelligent  assistance. 
Heartfelt  appreciation  is  merited  and  given  to  all. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


Vll 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

INDIAN  IMPRINTS 3 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS 37 

Chief  Plenty  Coups 38 

Chief  Red  Whip 40 

Chief  Timbo       .      .      . 44 

Chief  Apache  John 45 

Chief  Running  Bird 47 

Chief  Brave  Bear 49 

Chief  Umapine         51 

Chief  Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa 59 

Chief  Runs-the-Enemy 62 

Folklore  Tale 69 

Chief  Pretty  Voice  Eagle 72 

Folklore  Tales  — Sioux 88 

Chief  White  Horse 91 

Folklore  Tales  — Yankton  Sioux 94 

Chief  Bear  Ghost "     .  96 

Chief  Running  Fisher 98 

Bull  Snake 101 

Mountain  Chief .      .  104 

Mountain  Chief's  Boyhood  Sports 115 

Chief  Red  Cloud 118 

Chief  Two  Moons 


x  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS  .      .     .  129 

White-Man-Runs-Him 130 

Folklore  Tale  — Crow 136 

Hairy  Moccasin 138 

Curly 140 

Goes-Ahead-Basuk-Ore 145 

THE  INDIANS'  STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  .      .     .  150 

THE  LAST  GREAT  INDIAN  COUNCIL 188 

INDIAN  IMPRESSIONS  OF  THE  LAST  GREAT  COUNCIL     .  200 

THE  FAREWELL  OF  THE  CHIEFS 212 

INDEX  .  223 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  Last  Outpost Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

A  Glimpse  Backward 4 

An  Imperial  Warrior 6 

The  Flower  of  the  Wigwam 8 

The  Sacrament  of  Winter 10 

Singing  to  the  Spirits 12 

Trail  of  the  Death  Spirit 14 

A  Leaf  from  the  Indian's  Book 16 

An  Indian  Woman's  Dress  —  Mrs.  Wolf  Plume     .      .  18 

The  Crown  of  Eagle  Feathers 20 

The  War  Party 22 

The  Swirl  of  the  Warriors 24 

In  Battle  Line 26 

The  Attack  on  the  Camp 28 

An  Indian  Home 30 

Little  Friends 32 

A  Bath  in  the  Little  Horn 34 

An  Indian  Burden  Bearer 38 

Sunset  in  Camp 40 

Warriors  of  Other  Days 42 

Chief  Plenty  Coups         44 

Chief  Red  Whip 46 

Chief  Timbo         48 

Chief  Apache  John 50 

xi 


xii  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING  PAGE 


Chief  Running  Bird 52 

Chief  Brave  Bear 54 

Chief  Umapine 56 

Chief  Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa  .      .      , 58 

Chief  Runs-the-Enemy 62 

Chief  Pretty  Voice  Eagle 72 

On  the  War  Trail 76 

The  Voice  of  the  Water  Spirits 82 

Chief  White  Horse 90 

Chief  Bear  Ghost 96 

Chief  Running  Fisher 98 

Bull  Snake 100 

Mountain  Chief 104 

The  Peaceful  Camp 108 

Buffalo  Thundered  Across  the  Plains 112 

The  Lone  Tepee 114 

Chief  Red  Cloud 118 

Chief  Two  Moons 120 

War  Memories 126 

Custer  Scouts 130 

White-Man-Runs-Him  —  Custer  Scout 132 

Hairy  Moccasin  —  Custer  Scout 134 

Curly  —  Custer  Scout 136 

Goes- Ahead  —  Custer  Scout 138 

Sunset  on  the  Custer  Field 140 

Here  Custer  Fell 142 

The  Custer  Battlefield 144 

Scouts  on  the  March 146 

Scouting  Party  on  the  Plains 148 


ILLUSTRATIONS  xiii 

FACING  PAGE 

The  Song  of  the  Arrows 150 

The  Reno  Battlefield 152 

Map  of  the  Custer  Battlefield  After  Government  Survey  154 

A  War  Council 150 

Two  Moons  as  He  Fought  Custer 158 

The  Last  Arrow 160 

Lighting  the  Smoke  Signal 162 

Answering  the  Smoke  Signal 164 

The  Approach  of  the  Chiefs 166 

Chief  Plenty  Coups  Addressing  the  Council     .      .      .  168 

Chief  Two  Moons  Addressing  the  Council     .      .      .      .  170 

Chief  Koon-Kah-Za-Ghy  Addressing  the  Council     .      .  172 

An  Indian  Communion 174 

The  Council  Pipe 176 

The  Pause  in  the  Journey 178 

Scouts  Passing  Under  Cover  of  the  Night     ....  180 

The  Downward  Trail 182 

Climbing  the  Great  Divide 184 

Chiefs  Fording  the  Little  Horn 186 

Skirting  the  Sky-Line 188 

The  Final  Trail 190 

Down  the  Western  Slope 192 

Facing  the  Sunset 194 

The  Fading  Sunset 198 

Vanishing  into  the  Mists 204 

The  Sunset  of  a  Dying  Race 216 

The  Empty  Saddle 220 


THE  CONCEPT 

IN  undertaking  these  expeditions  to  the  North  American 
Indian,  the  sole  desire  has  been  to  perpetuate  the  life  story  of 
the  first  Americans  and  to  strengthen  in  their  hearts  the  feel 
ing  of  allegiance  and  friendship  for  their  country. 

For  this  purpose  two  expeditions  were  sent  forth  to  gather 
historic  data  and  make  picture  records  of  their  manners,  cus 
toms,  their  sports  and  games,  their  warfare,  religion,  and  the 
country  in  which  they  live. 

As  a  result,  on  Washington's  Birthday,  1913,  thirty-two 
Indian  chiefs,  representing  eleven  tribes,  assembled  with  the 
President  of  the  United  States  together  with  many  eminent 
citizens  and  details  from  the  Army  and  Navy  to  open  ground 
for  the  Indian  Memorial  authorized  by  act  of  Congress  to  be 
erected  in  the  harbour  of  New  York. 

The  Indian  chiefs  assembled,  hoisted  the  American  flag,  the 
first  time  in  their  history.  This  act  and  the  flag  gave  birth  to 
a  thrill  of  patriotism.  These  warriors  of  other  days  laid  claim 
to  a  share  in  the  destiny  of  our  country.  So  deeply  were  these 
First  Americans  impressed  with  a  sense  of  loyalty  to  the  flag 
that,  again  under  the  authority  of  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  a  third  Expedition  was  sent  forth  to  every  Indian  tribe. 
The  purpose  of  this  Expedition  was 'twofold,  the  linking  of 
every  tribe  in  the  country  with  the  National  Indian  Memorial, 
and  the  inspiring  of  an  ideal  of  patriotism  in  the  mind  of  the 
red  man  —  a  spirit  of  patriotism  that  would  lead  to  a  desire 
for  citizenship  —  a  feeling  of  friendship  and  allegiance,  to  be 
eternally  sealed  as  a  convenant  in  the  Indian  Memorial. 

XV 


THE  CONCEPT 

Here,  under  the  blessing  of  God,  on  the  shores  of  our 
beloved  country,  where  the  red  man  first  gave  welcome  to  the 
white  man,  this  Memorial  will  stand  in  eternal  bronze,  in  mem 
ory  of  a  noble,  though  vanishing  race,  and  a  token  to  all 
the  world  of  the  one  and  indivisible  citizenship  of  these 
United  States. 

RODMAN  WANAMAKER. 


PERSONS 

Representative  North  American  Indian  Chiefs,  scouts,  and 
warriors  participating  in  the  Last  Great  Indian  Council, 
held  in  the  valley  of  the  Little  Horn,  Montana,  September, 
1909,  with  their  English,  tribal,  and  Indian  designations. 

CHIEF  PLENTY  COUPS,  Chief  of  the  Crow  Nation,  bearing  the 
Indian  name  of  Aleck-shea-Ahoos,  signifying  Many  Achieve 
ments. 

CHIEF  RED  WHIP,  an  eminent  Chief  of  the  Gros  Ventres  Tribe, 
bearing  the  Indian  name  of  Bein-es-Kanach. 

CHIEF  TIMBO,  OR  HAIRLESS,  Head  Chief  of  the  Comanche  Tribe, 
bearing  the  Indian  name  of  Tah-cha-chi. 

CHIEF  APACHE  JOHN,  an  eminent  Apache  Chief,  bearing  the  Indian 
name  of  Koon-kah-za-chy,  signifying  Protector  of  his  Tepee. 

CHIEF  RUNNING  BIRD,  an  eminent  Chief  of  the  Kiowa  Tribe,  bear 
ing  the  Indian  name  of  Ta-ne-haddle. 

CHIEF  BRAVE  BEAR,  Head  Chief  of  the  Southern  Cheyennes, 
bearing  the  Indian  name  of  Ni-go  High-ez,  Ni-go,  bear  —  High- 
ez,  brave. 

CHIEF  UMAPINE,  Head  Chief  of  the  Cayuse  Tribe,  bearing  the 
Indian  name  of  Wa-kon-kon-we-la-son-mi. 

CHIEF  TiN-TiN-MEET-SA,  Chief  of  the  Umatilla  Tribe,  bearing 
the  Indian  name  of  Wil-Lou-Skin. 

CHIEF  RUNS-THE-ENEMY,  Chief  of  the  Teton  Sioux,  bearing  the 
Indian  name  of  Tok-kahin-hpe-ya. 

CHIEF  PRETTY  VOICE  EAGLE,  Chief  of  the  Yankton  Sioux,  bearing 
the  Indian  name  of  Wambli-ho-waste. 


xviii  PERSONS 

CHIEF  WHITE  HORSE,  Chief  of  the  Southern  Yankton  Sioux,  bearing 
the  Indian  name  of  Sung-ska. 

CHIEF  BEAR  GHOST,  Chief  of  the  Crow  Creek  Tribe,  bearing  the 
Indian  name  of  Mato-Wanagi,  signifying  the  Ghost  of  a  Bear. 

CHIEF  RUNNING  FISHER,  an  eminent  Chief  of  the  Gros  Ventres 
Tribe,  bearing  the  Indian  name  of  Itn-tyi-waatyi. 

BULL  SNAKE,  an  eminent  Crow  warrior  and  scout,  bearing  the 
Indian  name  of  Ear-Ous-Sah-Chee-dups,  signifying  Male  Snake. 

MOUNTAIN  CHIEF,  Chief  of  the  Blackfoot  Tribe,  bearing  the  In 
dian  name  of  Omaq-kat-tsa,  signifying  Big  Brave. 

CHIEF  RED  CLOUD,  Chief  of  the  Ogallalla  Sioux,  bearing  the  Indian 
name  of  Marpiya-Luta. 

CHIEF  Two  MOONS,  Head  Chief  of  the  Northern  Cheyennes, 
bearing  the  Indian  name  of  Ish-hayu-Nishus,  meaning  Two 
Moons  or  Two  Suns. 

WniTE-MAN-RuNS-HiM,  Chief  of  the  Custer  scouts,  an  eminent 
Crow  warrior,  bearing  the  Indian  name  of  Mias-tas-hede- 
Karoos,  signifying  The  White  Man  Runs  Him. 

HAIRY  MOCCASIN,  a  noted  Custer  scout,  of  the  Crow  Tribe,  bearing 
the  Indian  name  of  Esup-ewyshes. 

CURLY,  a  noted  Custer  scout,  of  the  Crow  Tribe,  bearing  the  Indian 
name  of  Shes-his. 

GOES-AHEAD,  a  noted  Custer  scout,  of  the  Crow  Tribe,  bearing  the 
Indian  name  of  Basuk-Ose,  signifying  Goes  First. 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS 
A  GLIMPSE  BACKWARD 


WE  ARE  exchanging  salutations  with  the  uncalendared  ages 
of  the  red  man.  We  are  measuring  footsteps  with  moo 
casined  feet  whose  trail  leads  along  the  receding  sands  of  the 
western  ocean.  A  bit  of  red  colour  set  in  immemorial  time, 
now  a  silent  sentinel,  weeping  unshed  tears  with  eyes  peering 
into  a  pitiless  desert. 

Life  without  humour  is  intolerable.  The  life  of  the  Indian 
has  been  a  series  of  long  and  bitter  tragedies.  There  is  a 
look  in  his  face  of  bronze  that  frightens  us,  a  tone  lights  up 
the  gamut  of  his  voice  that  makes  it  unlike  any  other  voice 
we  have  ever  heard --a  voice  that  will  echo  in  the  tomb  of 
time  —  a  Spartan  courage  that  shall  be  regnant  a  millennium 
beyond  the  Thermopylae  of  his  race. 

We  have  come  to  the  day  of  audit.  Annihilation  is  not 
a  cheerful  word,  but  it  is  coined  from  the  alphabet  of  Indian 
life  and  heralds  the  infinite  pathos  of  a  vanishing  race.  We 
are  at  the  end  of  historical  origins.  The  impression  is  pro 
found. 

A  vision  of  the  past  and  future  confronts  us.  What  we 
see  is  more  wonderful  than  a  view  the  points  of  which  can  be 


4  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

easily  determined.  We  behold  a  dead  sea  of  men  under  the 
empty  and  silent  morning,  a  hollow  land  into  which  have 
flowed  thousands  upon  thousands  —  at  last  the  echo  of  a 
child's  cry. 

The  door  of  the  Indian's  yesterdays  opens  to  a  new  world 

-  a  world  unpeopled  with  red  men,  but  whose  population 
fills  the  sky,  the  plains,  with  sad  and  spectre-like  memories 

-  with  the  flutter  of  unseen  eagle  pinions.     A  land  without 
the  tall  and  sombre  figure  worshipping  the  Great  Mystery; 
without  suns  and  snows  and  storms  —  without  the  scars  of 
battle,  swinging  war  club,  and  flashing  arrow  —  a  strange, 
weird  world,  holding  an  unconquered  race,  vanquished  before 
the  ruthless   tread   of  superior  forces  —  we  call  them  the 
agents  of  civilization.     Forces  that  have  in  cruel  fashion 
borne  down  upon  the  Indian  until  he  had  to  give  up  all  that 
was  his  and  all  that  was  dear  to  him  —  to  make  himself  over 
or   die.     He    would    not   yield.     He    died.     He   would    not 
receive  his  salvation  by  surrender;  rather  would  he  choose 
oblivion,   unknown   darkness  —  the   melting    fires   of   exter 
mination.     It  is  hard  to  think  this  virile,  untamed  creation 
has  been  swept  like  hurrying  leaves  by  angry  autumn  gusts 
across  the  sunlit  plains  into  a  night  without  a  star. 

The  white  is  the  conquering  race,  but  every-whither  there 
is  a  cry  in  the  heart  to  delve  into  the  mystery  of  these  ancient 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  5 

forerunners.     This  type  of  colour  holds  the  eye,  rivets  and 
absorbs  the  interest. 

Men  are  fast  coming  to  recognize  the  high  claim  of  a 
moral  obligation  to  study  the  yesterdays  of  this  imperial 
and  imperious  race.  The  preservation  of  this  record  in 
abiding  form  is  all  the  more  significant  because  all  serious  stu 
dents  of  Indian  life  and  lore  are  deeply  convinced  of  the 
insistent  fact  that  the  Indian,  as  a  race,  is  fast  losing  its 
typical  characters  and  is  soon  destined  to  pass  completely  \ 
away.  So  rapidly  are  the  remaining  Western  tribes  putting 
aside  their  native  customs  and  costumes,  their  modes  of 
life  and  ceremonies,  that  we  belong  to  the  last  generation 
that  will  be  granted  the  supreme  privilege  of  studying  the 
Indian  in  anything  like  his  native  state.  The  buffalo  has 
gone  from  the  continent,  and  now  the  Indian  is  following  the 
deserted  buffalo  trail.  All  future  students  and  historians, 
all  ethnological  researches  must  turn  to  the  pictures  now 
made  and  the  pages  now  written  for  the  study  of  a  great  race. 

It  is  little  short  of  solemn  justice  to  these  vanishing  red 
men  that  students,  explorers,  artists,  poets,  men  of  letters, 
genius,  generosity,  and  industry,  strive  to  make  known  to 
future  generations  what  manner  of  men  and  women  were 
these  whom  we  have  displaced  and  despoiled. 

Indisputable  figures,  the  result  of  more  than  five  years  of 


6  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

painstaking  research  on  the  part  of  the  Bureau  of  Ethnology 
at  Washington,  place  the  decrease  of  Indian  population  in 
the  United  Sates,  north  of  Mexico,  since  the  coming  of  the 
white  man,  at  65  per  cent.  They  have  gone  from  the  forests 
and  plains,  from  the  hills  and  valleys  over  which  they  roamed 
and  reigned  for  uncounted  ages.  We  have  taken  their  land, 
blotted  out  their  faith  and  despoiled  their  philosophy.  It 
has  been  the  utter  extinction  of  a  whole  type  of  humanity. 
The  conquering  Anglo-Saxon  speech  has  swept  out  of  ex 
istence  over  a  thousand  distinct  languages.  These  original 
Americans  Deserve  a  Monument.  They  have  moved  ma 
jestically  down  the  pathway  of  the  ages,  but  it  culminates 
in  the  dead  march  of  Saul. 

The  record  of  the  North  American  Indian  has  naught  to 
do  with  the  tabulation  of  statistics,  the  musty  folios  of  custom 
reports,  the  conquests  of  commerce.  He  has  never  walked 
up  to  the  gates  of  the  city  and  asked  entrance  to  its  portals, 
nor  subscribed  himself  as  a  contestant  in  the  arena  of  finance. 
He  has  had  no  share  in  the  lofty  ideals  of  statecraft,  nor  the 
spotless  ermine  of  the  judiciary.  He  lived  and  moved  and 
had  his  being  in  the  sanctuary  of  the  hills,  the  high  altar- 
stairs  of  the  mountains,  the  sublime  silences  of  the  stately 
pines  —  where  birds  sung  their  matins  and  the  "stars  became 
tapers  tall";  where  the  zitkadanto  —  the  blue  bird  —  uttered 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  7 

its  ravishing  notes.  He  sought  the  kat-yi-mo  —  the  "en 
chanted  mesa"  —  as  the  place  of  prayer,  the  hour  in  which 
to  register  his  oath.  On  the  wide  extended  plain,  rolling 
green,  like  the  billows  of  the  ocean,  he  listened  for 
wana'gipi  tah'upahupi —  "the  wings  of  the  spirits."  In 
wana'gi  ta'caku —  the  milky  way  —  he  saw  the  footprints 
of  departed  warriors.  His  moccasined  feet  penetrated  wa- 
koniya  —  "the  place  where  water  is  born"  -the  springs 
that  gushed  forth  to  give  life,  and  refreshing  to  all  the  earth. 
Canhotka  ska  —  the  "white  frost"  -became  the  priest's 
robe  as  he  petitioned  at  the  sacrament  of  winter.  The 
universe  to  him  became  a  sounding-board  of  every  emotion 
that  thrilled  his  being.  He  found  in  its  phenomena  an 
answer  to  his  longings  and  the  high  expression  of  every  fervour 
of  his  soul.  fWe  cannot  understand  this,  because  the  Indian 
chased  the  ethereal,  the  weird,  the  sublime,  the  mysterious: 
we  chase  the  dollar.  He  heard  the  voice  of  nature;  we  listen 
for  the  cuckoo  clock  of  commerce.^ 

The  camera,  the  brush,  and  the  chisel  have  made  us  famil 
iar  with  his  plumed  and  hairy  crests,  but  what  of  the  deep 
fountains  of  his  inner  life?  What  did  he  think?  How  did  he 
feel?  What  riotous  impulses,  or  communion  with  the  Great 
Mystery,  carved  his  face  of  bronze?  These  no  scientist,  no 
discoverer,  no  leader  of  expeditions  have  ever  borne  into  the 


8  THE  VANISHING  RACE  ^ 

light.  No  footprints  along  the  trail  can  spell  out  for  us  his 
majestic  mien,  his  stolid  dignity,  his  triumphant  courage,  his 
inscrutable  self-poise,  and  all  of  these  dyed  with  a  blood-red 
struggle  for  survival  such  as  crowns  no  other  page  of  Ameri 
can  history. 

To  gain  this  close  measure  of  the  Indian  mind,  his  friend 
ship  and  confidence  must  not  suffer  eclipse.  It  is  a  super 
lative  task,  for  the  inner  Indian  shrine  is  crossed  by  only  a 
favoured  few.  The  Indian  is  averse  to  being  photographed, 
for  he  feels  that  every  picture  made  of  himself  by  so  much 
shortens  his  life.  He  looks  at  his  portrait,  then  feels  of  his 
person;  he  realizes  that  he  has  not  lost  a  hand  or  a  foot,  but 
feels  most  profoundly  that  his  soul  will  be  that  much  smaller 
in  the  future  world.  His  medicine  is  sacred,  and  you  may 
not  interrupt  the  daily  tenure  of  his  life  without  destroying 
some  ceremonial  purpose.  It  is  meaningful,  therefore,  that 
these  red  men  allowed  us  daily  communion.  This  story  is 
then  simply  instinct  with  the  Indian's  inner  self:  how  we 
sat  with  him  in  his  wigwam,  and  amid  his  native  haunts, 
surrounded  by  every  element  of  the  wild  life  we  were 
to  commemorate;  how  his  confidence  was  gained,  and  he 
was  led  to  put  aside  his  war-shirt  and  eagle  feathers,  and 
pull  in  twain  the  veil  of  his  superstitious  and  unexplained 
reserve  and  give  to  the  world  what  the  world  so  much 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  9 

craves   to  know  —  what   the    Indian   thinks   and    how    he 
feels. 

Memorable  hours  these  under  clear  Montana  skies,  or  at 
the  midnight  hour  by  the  dim  campfire  light,  the  rain  beating 
its  tattoo  on  the  tepee  above  our  heads  —  surrounded  by 
an  army  of  shining  tepees,  like  white  ghosts  of  the  plains, 
while  these  pathetic  figures  told  the  story  of  their  lives. 
The  warrior  of  other  days  gave  himself  up  to  mirthful  tale, 
to  boyhood's  transports,  to  manhood's  achievements,  to 
the  wild  chase  of  the  hunter,  to  the  weaponry  and  woes  of 
savage  warfare,  to  the  hallowed  scenes  of  home  life,  to  the 
primitive  government  of  the  tribe,  and  the  busy  and  en 
gaging  activities  of  the  camp;  finally,  to  the  royalty  of  the 
Great  Council,  when  the  chiefs  assembled  in  solemn  conclave 
to  hold  communion,  to  say  a  long  and  last  farewell. 

Months  of  arduous  labour  were  spent  in  the  effort  to  make 
a  comprehensive  and  permanent  record  of  an  old-time  Indian 
council.  For  this  purpose  eminent  Indian  chiefs  were  assem 
bled  in  the  Valley  of  the  Little  Big  Horn  in  Montana,  from 
nearly  every  Indian  tribe  in  the  United  States.  This  council 
involved  permission  and  unstinted  aid  from  the  Bureau  of 
Indian  Affairs  at  Washington,  the  cooperation  of  the  Indian 
superintendents  on  all  the  reservations;  the  selection  of 
the  most  distinguished  chiefs  —  chiefs  eminent  for  ability 


10  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

and  honourable  achievement  among  their  tribes.  The 
council  involved  the  necessity  of  interpreters  from  each  tribe, 
for  they  could  only  talk  in  the  sign  language.  It  involved 
the  construction  of  a  primitive  council  lodge  along  the  lines 
of  history  and  tradition,  and  again,  the  reproduction  of 
primitive  customs  and  traditions,  both  in  paraphernalia, 
costume,  and  conduct. 

These  imprints  are  the  trail  marks  left  by  this  Great 
Council  of  Chiefs  —  the  last  Great  Indian  Council  that  will 
ever  be  held  on  American  soil.  The  story  most  faithfully 
records  the  idiom  and  phrasing  and  atmosphere  of  the  Indian's 
speech  as  it  came  from  Indian  lips.  The  language  of  the 
landscape  where  the  Indian  made  his  home,  where  he  fought 
his  battles  and  lived  his  life,  where  this  solemn  council  was 
held,  is  manifest  in  the  accompanying  photogravures.  On 
the  Indian  trail,  we  may  note  as  a  hint  of  the  many,  a  few 
of  his  imprints. 

HIS  RELIGION 

The  life  of  the  Indian  is  one  vast  and  glittering  mosaic 
of  rite  and  ritual.  His  warfare,  his  dress,  his  medicine,  his 
ceremonies,  his  wooing,  and  his  dying  are  all  of  them  expres 
sive  of  a  dominant  idea  that  pervades  his  life  and  controls 
his  purpose.  He  lives  constantly  and  absorbingly  in  a 


ST  ....       W 


im 


stjf  /*€ 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  11 

mystic  land.  He  is  beckoned  by  unseen  hands  and  is  lured 
into  the  realms  of  mystery  by  the  challenge  of  voices  silent 
to  all  other  ears.  His  dress  is  studded  with  resplendent 
colours  significant  of  the  green  earth,  the  blue  sky,  and  the 
cry  of  his  soul  for  a  place  in  the  great  beyond.  Like  the 
high  priest  of  old,  he  wears  on  his  breast  the  fiery  filaments 
of  his  faith. 

The  Indian  sits  in  the  tabernacle  of  the  mighty  forest  or 
on  the  heights  of  some  deserted  and  wind-swept  mesa,  beats 
his  tomtom  or  drones  song  upon  song,  prays  to  the  Great 
Mystery,  pleads  with  the  fires  of  the  sun  to  give  him  strength 
and  life  and  health,  and  calls  the  sun  his  father.  The 
whispering  winds  tell  his  tale  to  the  clouds.  He  peers  into 
the  depths  of  the  stars,  watches  the  aurora  as  the  death 
dance  of  the  spirits,  answers  the  high  call  of  the  thunder  as 
the  voice  of  the  Great  Mystery,  utters  the  cry  of  his  soul  to 
the  lightnings -- the  arrows  of  taowity  —  communes  with 
the  rivers  and  the  lakes,  the  moon,  and  the  legion  of  wild 
beasts,  and  all  of  it  with  a  pitiful  longing  that  his  days  of 
fasting  and  his  vicarious  devotion  may  bring  upon  his  life 
and  his  tribe  the  favour  of  the  gods.  • 

These  primitive  men  hold  time  and  money  and  ambition 
as  nothing.  But  a  dream,  or  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  or  a  bird 
flying  across  the  trail  from  the  wrong  direction,  or  a  change 


12  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

of  the  wind  will  challenge  their  deepest  thoughts.  To  the 
Indian  mind  all  signs  are  symbolic.  Their  ceremonies  are 
as  complicated  as  any  of  ancient  Hebrew  or  Greek  tradition. 
The  Indian  aspires  to  be  a  great  hunter,  he  seeks  fame  as  a 
noble  warrior;  he  struggles  for  the  eagle  feathers  of  distinc 
tion,  but  his  greatest  longing  is  to  become  a  Medicine  Man 
and  know  the  Great  Mystery.  All  medicine  people  of 
the  tribes  carry  on  their  necks,  or  in  a  pouch  at  the  belt, 
some  sacred  thing  used  in  their  magic  practices  —  the  claw 
of  a  bear,  the  rattle  of  a  snake,  a  bird's  wing,  the  tooth  of  an 
elk,  a  bit  of  tobacco.  Every  Indian  carries  his  individual 
medicine,  and  his  medicine  is  good  or  bad  according  to  his 
success.  If  he  finds  a  feather  at  wrong  angle  in  his  path,  his 
medicine  is  bad  for  that  day.  The  Indian  fasts  and  dances 
and  chants,  using  his  mind,  his  spirit,  and  his  body  as  pliable 
instruments  in  the  making  of  his  prayer.  He  finds  in  the 
veritable  exhaustion  of  his  body  the  spirit  path  made  clear 
for  his  dreams,  until  the  very  stars  seem  as  the  eyes  of  the 
gods,  and  the  sighing  of  the  pines  comes  to  him  as  the  rustle 
of  eagle  wings  to  bear  his  spirit  to  loftier  realms.  Instead 
of  the  common  acceptation  that  the  Indian  has  no  religion 
whatever,  every  single  act  of  his  life  carries  with  it  some 
ceremonial  function,  and  his  whole  being  is  surrounded  by 
a  shining  host  of  ceremonial  spirits.  The  Indian  goes  with 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  13 

prayer  thoughts  to  the  water.  His  bath  is  a  sacrament. 
He  cuts  the  long  supple  willow  withes  that  grow  on  the 
banks  of  the  stream,  enters  the  sharpened  end  into  the  soil, 
bends  and  ties  the  feathery  tops  into  an  arch;  over  the  arches 
thus  made  he  throws  his  blankets;  meanwhile,  gathered  stones 
have  been  heated  in  the  burning  fire.  These  stones  glowing 
white  with  heat  are  placed  in  a  tiny  pit  underneath  the  cover 
ing  of  this  booth,  now  to  be  called  his  sweat  bath.  First  one 
stone  until  four  have  been  counted  are  placed  by  the  attendant 
in  the  pit,  and  then  the  fiery  pile  is  thrown  in  promiscuous 
fashion  on  the  heap.  The  Indians  enter  the  closed  covering, 
the  ceremonial  pipe  is  smoked,  a  gourd  of  cold  water  is  handed 
to  each;  they  then  disrobe,  the  attending  priest  lowering  the 
blanket  over  the  entrance.  Cold  water  is  then  poured  over 
the  heated  stones,  filling  the  enclosure  with  steam.  In 
silence  they  commune  with  the  Great  Mystery  until  one 
of  their  number  is  blessed  with  a  vision;  then  a  call  is 
made  and  the  attendant  lifts  the  blanket,  almost  imme 
diately  lowering  it  again.  This  action  is  repeated  until 
the  vision  has  been  vouchsafed  four  times,  when  they  all 
come  forth  and  plunge  into  the  river.  These  sweat  baths  are 
always  located  on  the  banks  of  a  flowing  stream.  The  Indian 
sees  in  every  ripple  of  the  flashing  water  that  comes  to  meet 
him  a  shining  token  of  the  medicine  he  has  seen  in  his  vision. 


14  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

They  then  repair  to  the  wigwam  and  listen  in  solemn  silence  to 
the  chanting  cadences  of  the  Indian  who  has  been  favoured. 

The  curling  smoke  from  the  long-stemmed  pipe  breathes 
forth  the  fumes  of  war  or  the  pale  quiet  of  peace.  With 
his  pipe  he  pacifies  the  elements.  On  festal  occasions,  or 
when  the  camp  rejoices  at  the  joys  of  harvest,  the  priest  smokes 
his  pipe,  blowing  the  smoke  first  to  the  earth,  then  to  the 
sky,  to  the  north,  the  south,  the  east,  and  the  west,  in  token 
of  gratitude  for  the  favour  of  the  gods.  With  the  pipe 
the  Indian  also  seals  his  councils. 

The  Indian  buries  his  dead  upon  some  high  elevation, 
because  it  is  a  nearer  approach  to  the  spirit  world.  They 
bury  on  scaffolds  and  in  trees  that  in  some  mute,  sorrowful 
way  they  may  still  hold  communion  with  their  loved  and 
their  lost.  At  the  grave  they  go  to  the  four  points  of  the 
compass  and  mourn,  singing  all  the  while  a  weird  chant. 
They  bury  with  their  dead  all  of  the  belongings  of  the  deceased, 
the  playthings  of  the  Indian  child,  for  the  Indian  boy  and 
girl  have  dolls  and  balls  and  baubles  as  does  the  white  child: 
you  may  see  them  all  pendent  from  the  poles  of  the  scaffold 
or  the  boughs  of  a  tree.  When  the  great  Chief  Spotted  Tail 
died  they  killed  his  two  ponies,  placing  the  two  heads  toward 
the  east,  fastening  the  tails  on  the  scaffold  toward  the  west. 
The  war-bonnets  and  war-shirts  are  folded  away  with  the 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  15 

silent  dead;  then  follow  the  desolate  days  of  fasting  and 
mourning.  In  some  instances  hired  mourners  are  engaged, 
and  for  their  compensation  they  exact  oftentimes  the  entire 
possessions  of  the  deceased.  The  habitation  in  which  the 
death  occurs  is  burned,  and  many  times  when  death  is  ap 
proaching  the  sick  one  is  carried  out  so  that  the  lodge 
may  be  occupied  after  the  loved  one  has  been  laid  to  rest. 
The  grief  of  the  sorrowing  ones  is  real  and  most  profound. 
They  will  allow  no  token  of  the  departed  to  remain  within 
sight  or  touch.  In  their  paroxysms  of  sorrow  the  face  and 
limbs  are  lacerated,  and  often  the  tips  of  fingers  are  severed. 
Until  the  days  of  mourning  are  over,  which  is  for  more  than 
a  year,  they  absent  themselves  from  all  public  gatherings. 
The  bereaved  fold  themselves  in  a  white  blanket,  repair  to 
some  desolate  hillside  overlooking  the  valley,  the  camp  and 
the  distant  weird  scaffold,  and  sit,  amid  cloud,  sunshine,  and 
storm,  with  bowed  head,  in  solemn  silence.  White  blankets 
are  worn  by  the  mourners  as  they  move  through  the  camp, 
significant  of  the  white  trail  of  the  stars  whither  the  Indian 
feels  his  loved  ones  have  gone. 

The  Indian  has  a  sublime  idea  of  creation.  He  loves 
the  brown  earth  and  calls  it  his  mother,  because  it  has  creative 
power  and  because  it  nourishes.  And  thus  we  might  gather 
in  from  the  thirty-two  points  of  the  compass  the  forces  operant 


16  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

in  earth  and  sky,  and  each  would  become  a  herald  of  the 
Indian's  life  of  faith. 

THE   BOOKS   OF   HIS    LIBRARY 

The  Indian  child  is  nursed  on  Indian  song  and  story. 
Tribal  traditions  are  handed  down  from  age  to  age  by  enacting 
in  the  dance,  on  the  part  of  the  warriors  and  braves,  their 
deeds  of  valour  in  war,  their  triumphs  in  the  chase,  their 
prowess  against  all  foes.  Forest  lore  is  a  constant  text 
book.  He  is  taught  to  observe  which  side  of  a  tree  has  the 
lightest  bark  —  which  side  the  most  branches;  why  the  tree 
reaches  forth  longer  arms  on  the  edge  of  the  wood  than  in 
the  depths  of  the  forest  where  his  eye  is  taught  to  penetrate. 
The  squirrel,  the  rabbit  and  the  birds  all  become  his  little 
friends:  where  and  how  they  get  their  food,  their  manner  of 
life,  their  colour,  and  how  they  call  their  mates,  who  are  their 
enemies,  and  how  they  may  be  protected.  His  ear  is  trained 
to  hear  sounds  ordinarily  inaudible,  his  nostrils  are  early  taught 
to  distinguish  the  scent  of  the  different  wild  animals.  Then 
came  his  ability  to  imitate  the  call  of  this  wild  life,  sometimes 
by  direct  vocalization,  or  by  placing  two  reeds  to  the  lips 
so  dexterously  that  the  timid  fawn  is  led  to  his  feet.  This 
literature  the  Indian  child  studies,  until  his  arms  are  strong 
enough  to  bend  the  bow  and  send  an  arrow  speeding  to  its 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  17 

mark.  He  soon  essays  the  role  of  a  warrior.  His  study 
of  the  birds  enables  him  to  find  the  eerie  of  the  eagle,  for  a 
victory  means  that  he  may  add  an  eagle  feather  to  his  war 
bonnet  or  coup  stick.  His  study  of  the  hills  enables  him  to 
find  in  their  vermilion  and  golden  seams  the  colours  for  his 
war  paint.  In  the  crimson  berries  festooning  the  banks  of 
the  stream,  when  crushed,  he  finds  still  another  element  of 
decoration.  The  white  man  makes  a  book  whose  leaves  talk. 
The  sunshine  bears  speech  and  light  to  the  Indian.  He  lives 
by  communion  with  the  stars.  The  Great  Bear  of  the  stars 
is  called  the  great  animal  of  cold  weather.  When  a  shadow 
crosses  his  mind  he  watches  the  clouds  that  touch  the  moon 
when  it  is  new.  He  reads  the  stars,  for  they  travel  to  hinTin 
a  familiar  pathway  across  the  sky.  They  are  bright  spirits 
sent  earthward  by  the  Great  Mystery,  and  when  thick  worlds 
gather  in  clusters,  there  are  so  many  souls  of  earth  people 
that  their  trail  makes  luminous  the  white  way  of  the  sky. 
The  wing  of  a  bird  is  the  symbol  of  thoughts  that  fly  very 
high.  From  the  bird  that  soars  nearest  the  blue  he  plucks 
prayer  feathers.  These  he  dyes  and  cherishes  with  jealous 
care.  The  Indian  possesses  a  strange  love  for  growing  things, 
tall  grasses  with  lace-like  plumes  forming  a  lattice  for  the 
deep  green  of  the  slender  bushes  that  bear  the  rich  clusters 
of  crimson  buffalo  berries.  He  knows  and  loves  the  wild 


18  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

flowers  that  hang  their  golden  heads  along  the  banks  of  the 
purling  stream  or  that  in  gleaming  colours  enamel  the  wide 
stretches  of  the  plain.  There  are  a  thousand  leaves  in 
every  book,  and  with  every  book  in  nature's  library  he  is 
familiar  to  the  point  of  success. 

HIS    ADORNMENT 

To  the  casual  observer  the  costume  and  character  of  the 
Indian  all  look  alike.  The  mind  is  confused  amid  a  riotous 
and  fantastic  display  of  colours.  The  fact  is  that  the  minor 
details  of  Indian  dress  are  an  index  to  Indian  character  and 
often  tell  the  story  of  his  position  in  the  tribe,  and  surely  tell 
the  story  of  his  individual  conception  of  the  life  here,  and  what 
he  hopes  for  in  the  life  hereafter,  and  like  the  laurel  wreath 
on  the  brow  of  the  Grecian  runner,  they  spell  out  for  us 
his  exploits  and  achievements.  To  the  white  man  all  these 
decorations  are  construed  as  a  few  silly  ornaments,  the 
indulgence  of  a  feverish  vanity,  but  they  open  like  a  book  the 
life  of  the  Indian.  His  motive  in  adornment  is  to  mark  in 
dividual,  tribal,  or  ceremonial  distinction.  The  use  of  paint 
on  the  face,  hair,  and  body,  both  in  colour  and  design, 
generally  has  reference  to  individual  or  clan  beliefs,  or  it 
indicates  relationship,  or  personal  bereavement,  or  is  an 
act  of  courtesy.  It  is  always  employed  in  ceremonies, 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  19 

religious  and  secular,  and  is  an  accompaniment  of  gala  dress 
for  the  purpose  of  honouring  a  guest  or  to  celebrate  an  oc-i 
casion.  The  face  of  the  dead  was  frequently  painted  in 
accordance  with  tribal  or  religious  symbolism.  Paint  is 
also  used  on  the  faces  of  children  and  adults  as  a  protection 
from  wind  and  sun.  Plucking  the  hair  from  the  face  and 
body  is  a  part  of  the  daily  program.  The  male  Indian  never 
shaves  and  the  beard  is  a  disgrace.  A  pair  of  tweezers  be 
comes  his  razor.  Sweet  grasses  and  seeds  serve  as  a  perfume. 
Ear  ornaments  are  a  mark  of  family  thrift,  wealth  or  distinction, 
and  indicate  honour  shown  to  the  wearer  by  his  kindred. 
;  Among  the  Plains  Indians  the  milk  teeth  of  the  elk  were 
the  most  costly  adornments.  They  were  fastened  in  rows 
on  a  woman's  tunic  and  represented  the  climax  of  Indian 
fashion,  the  garment  possessing  a  value  of  several  hundred 
dollars.  Head  bands,  armlets,  bracelets,  belts,  necklaces, 
and  garters  of  metal  and  seeds  and  embroidered  buckskin 
were  in  constant  use.  They  were  not  only  decorative  but 
often  symbolic.  Archaeological  testimony  tells  of  the  almost 
general  use  of  sea  shells  as  necklace  ornaments,  which  found 
their  way  into  the  interior  by  barter  or  as  ceremonial  gifts. 
The  chiefs  of  the  tribe  were  fond  of  wearing  a  disk  cut  from  a 
conch-shell,  and  these  were  also  prominent  in  religious  rites, 
ranking  among  the  modern  tribes  as  did  the  turquoise  among 


20  THE  VANISHING  RACE, 

the  people  of  the  Southwest.  A  necklace  of  bear  claws  marks 
the  man  of  distinction,  and  sometimes  was  worn  as  an  armlet. 
In  the  buffalo  country  the  women  seldom  ornamented  their 
own  robes,  but  embroidered  those  worn  by  the  men.  Some 
times  a  man  painted  his  robe  in  accordance  with  a  dream  or 
pictured  upon  it  a  yearly  record  of  his  own  deeds,  or  the 
prominent  events  of  the  tribe.  Among  the  southern  tribes 
a  prayer  rug  was  made  on  deer  skin,  both  the  buffalo  and 
deer  skins  having  been  tanned  and  softened  by  the  use  of  the 
brains  taken  from  the  skull  of  the  animal.  The  skins  were 
painted  with  intricate  ornamentation,  symbols  and  prayer 
thoughts  adorning  the  skin  in  ceremonial  colours;  white  clouds 
and  white  flowers,  the  sun  god,  and  the  curve  of  the  moon  with 
its  germ  of  life,  the  morning  star,  and  also  a  symbol  of  the 
messengers  from  the  gods.  Above  it  all  zigzag  lines  ran  through 
the  blue  of  the  sky  to  denote  the  lightning  by  which  the 
children  above  sent  their  decrees  to  the  earth  children  who 
roamed  the  plains. 

Footgear  often  proclaimed  the  tribal  relation,  the  peculiar 
cut  and  decoration  of  the  moccasin  denoting  a  man's  tribe. 
The  war-shirt  was  frequently  ornamented  to  represent  the  life 
story  of  the  man  wearing  it.  The  breast  contained  a  prayer  for 
protection,  and  on  the  back  might  be  found  woven  in  beaded 
tapestry  the  symbols  of  victory.  He  had  conquered  the 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  21 

trail  behind  him.  The  shirt  was  often  decorated  with  a 
fringe  of  human  hair,  the  more  warlike  appending  the 
scalps  of  the  slain.  The  warrior  wore  no  regalia  so  im 
posing  as  his  war -bonnet  with  its  crown  of  golden 
eagle  feathers.  Before  the  coming  of  the  horse  the  flap  at 
the  back  rarely  extended  below  the  waist,  but  when  the 
warriors  came  to  be  mounted,  the  ruff  of  feathers  was  so 
lengthened  that  when  the  Indian  was  dismounted  it  trailed 
on  the  ground.  The  making  of  a  war-bonnet  was  accompanied 
by  song  and  ceremony.  Each  feather  before  it  was  placed  in 
position  was  held  in  the  hand  and  had  recounted  over  it  the 
story  of  some  war  honour.  A  bonnet  could  not  be  made  without 
the  consent  of  all  the  warriors  and  it  stood  as  a  record  of 
tribal  valour  and  a  special  mark  of  distinction  granted  to  the 
man  by  his  tribe.  Every  Indian  takes  great  joy  in  laying  out 
his  colour  scheme.  It  becomes  a  mosaic  of  artistic  talent. 
Feathers  are  gathered  from  the  eagles'  flight.  Skins  are 
taken  from  the  wild  beasts.  Bones,  beads,  sparkling  metals, 
soft-tinted  sea  shells,  and  all  of  them  blended  with  the  vari 
coloured  paints  that  he  has  compounded  in  nature's  mortar. 
The  wroman  enters  into  the  w^ork  with  intelligent  zest,  and 
when  completed  the  whole  array  of  blended  colours  is  beyond 
the  criticism  of  the  tribe.  The  back  of  an  Indian's  war-bonnet 
and  war-shirt  is  always  more  gaudy  and  sumptuous  than  the 


22  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

front  view  and  this  because  when  Indians  pass  each  other 
their  salutation  is  brief  and  formal.  They  ride  right  on. 
But  after  the  meeting  they  turn  in  the  saddle  and  look  back 
to  take  an  inventory.  The  wealth  of  the  Indian,  his  position 
in  the  tribe,  his  ceremonial  attainment  are  all  passed  upon 
and  estimate  entered.  This  colour  scheme  goes  on  through 
the  entire  Indian  wardrobe  to  pipe  sack,  coup  stick  and 
moccasins.  The  Indian  could  not  have  received  his  suggestion 
for  a  colour  scheme  from  the  tinted  leaves  of  autumn  for 
they  are  dull  in  comparison.  He  may  have  had  a  hint  from 
the  glowing  sunsets  that  in  that  western  land  fill  earth  and 
sky  with  a  glory  so  transcendent  that  mere  rhetoric  is  a  prof 
anation.  More  likely  is  it  that  when  free  and  unrestrained 
he  roamed  over  plain  and  hill  his  soul  became  enamoured 
with  the  dazzling  array  of  colours,  beyond  the  genius  of  the 
proudest  palette,  to  be  found  in  the  marvellous  formations 
that  surround  the  great  geysers  of  the  Yellowstone,  colours 
more  exquisitely  beautiful  than  the  supremest  refinement  of 
art.  Every-whither  down  the  cone-shaped  mounds  are  tiny 
steam-heated  rivulets  interlacing  each  other,  edged  with 
gold  and  vermilion  and  turquoise  and  orange  and  opal. 
Indian  trails  have  been  found  also  interlacing  each  other  all 
through  this  wonderland.  Deep  furrows  in  the  grassy  slopes 
of  these  ancient  footprints  are  still  plainly  visible. 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  23 

Thither  we  may  believe  came  the  red  man  imbued  with 
the  spirit  of  reverence  and  awe  before  all  this  majesty  and 
beauty,  and  from  this  exhaustless  laboratory  claimed  the 
vivid  colouring  for  the  expression  of  his  life  of  faith. 

HIS    WARFARE 

The  Indian  has  lived  such  a  life  of  hazard  for  long  centuries 
that  he  has  had  trained  into  him  a  first  great  instinct  to  fight. 
They  have  a  war  star  in  the  sky,  and  when  it  moves  the  time 
to  make  war  is  heavy  upon  them.  There  are  many  cogent 
reasons  for  the  belief  that  before  the  coming  of  the  white 
man  there  were  no  general  or  long-continued  wars  among  the 
Indians.  There  was  no  motive  for  war.  Quarrels  ensued  when 
predatory  tribes  sought  to  filch  women  or  horses.  Strife 
was  engendered  on  account  of  the  distribution  of  buffalo, 
but  these  disturbances  could  not  be  dignified  by  the  name 
of  war.  The  country  was  large  and  the  tribes  were  widely 
separated.  Their  war  implements  were  of  the  crudest  sort. 
A  shield  would  stop  a  stone-headed  arrow,  and  it  necessitated 
a  hand-to-hand  conflict  for  the  use  of  a  flint-headed  lance 
and  the  ponderous  war  club.  The  white  man  came,  and  for 
hundreds  of  years  their  contest  has  been  waged  against  a 
superior  force.  They  have  disputed  every  mile  of  territory 
which  has  been  acquired  from  them.  During  all  that  time 
they  could  not  make  a  knife,  a  rifle  or  a  round  of  ammunition. 


24  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

Their  method  of  communication  was  confined  to  the  smoke 
signal,  signal  fires  and  scouts.  They  had  no  telegraph,  no 
heliograph,  no  arsenal.  Modern  implements  of  war  they 
have  been  able  to  obtain  only  in  late  years  and  then  in  meagre 
quantities,  even  then  only  by  capture  or  at  exorbitant  rates. 
The  Indian  has  proved  himself  a  redoubtable  and  masterful 
foe.  For  more  than  three  hundred  years  millions  of  civilized 
white  people  have  fought  a  bitter  battle  with  three  hundred 
thousand  red  men.  During  all  these  tragic  years  the  nations 
of  the  w^orld  have  moved  on  to  discovery,  subjugation,  and 
conquest.  Nation  has  taken  up  arms  against  nation.  Eng 
land,  France,  and  Spain  have  put  a  rim  of  colonies  about  the 
globe.  Our  own  great  civil  struggle  has  been  written  down 
on  the  pages  of  history  with  letters  of  blood.  England, 
France,  Spain,  and  the  United  States  have  during  this  period 
tried  their  prowess  with  these  less  than  three  hundred  thousand 
braves  and  only  now  has  the  decimation  become  complete. 
No  such  striking  example  of  endurance,  power  of  resistance, 
and  consummate  generalship  has  been  recorded  in  the  annals  of 
time.  Sitting-Bull,  Red  Cloud,  Looking-Glass,  Chief  Joseph, 
Two  Moons,  Grass,  Rain-in-the-Face,  American  Horse, 
Spotted  Tail,  and  Chief  Gall  are  names  that  would 
add  lustre  to  any  military  page  in  the  world's  history. 
Had  they  been  leaders  in  any  one  of  the  great  armies  of  the 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  25 

nation  they  would  have  ranked  conspicuously    as    master 
captains.     The  Indian,  deprived  of  the  effectiveness  of  sup 
plies  and  modern  armament,  found  his  strongest  weapon  in 
the  oratory  of  the  council  lodge.     Here,  without  any  written 
or  established  code  of  laws,  without  the  power  of  the  press  and 
the  support  of  public  sentiment,  absolutely  exiled  from  all 
communication  with  civilized  resources,  unaided  and  alone, 
their  orators  presented  the  affairs  of  the  moment  to  the 
assembled  tribe,  swaying  the  minds  and  wills  of  their  fellows 
into  concerted  and  heroic  action.     The  wonderful  imagery 
of  the  Indian  orator  —  an  imagery  born  of  his  baptism  into 
the  spirit  of  nature  —  his  love  of  his  kind,  and  the  deathless 
consciousness  of  the  justice  of  his  cause  made  his  oratory 
more  resistless  than  the  rattle  of  Gatling  guns,  and  also  formed 
a  model  for  civilized  speech.      It  was  an  oratory  that  enabled 
a  few  scattering  tribes  to  withstand  the  aggressions  of  four 
great  nations  of  the  world  for  a  period  of  several  centuries,  and 
to  successfully  withstand  the  tramping  columns  of  civilization. 
The  science  and  art  of  Indian  warfare  would  take  volumes 
to  compass.     His  strategy  and  statesmanship  compelled  vic 
tory.     He  was  almost  always  assured  of  victory  before  he 
proceeded  to  battle.     He  knew  no  fear.    A  thousand  lives 
would  have  been  a  small  gift  had  he  the  power  to  lay  them 
on  the  altar  of  his  cause.     He  pitted  the  perfection  of  details 


26  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

against  the  wily  strategy  of  his  own  colour  and  the  pompous 
superiority  of  the  white  man's  tactics.  On  the  trail  care  was 
taken  to  cover  up  or  obliterate  his  footprints.  When  a 
fire  became  necessary  he  burned  fine  dry  twigs  so  that  the 
burning  of  green  boughs  would  not  lift  to  the  wind  an  odour 
of  fire,  nor  carry  a  trail  of  smoke.  He  conceived  and  carried 
out  a  wonderful  deception  in  dress.  In  winter  a  band  of 
warriors  were  painted  white.  They  rode  white  horses  and 
their  war  dress  was  all  of  it  made  of  the  plainest  white  so  that 
a  group  of  warriors,  stationed  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  would 
appear  in  the  distance  like  a  statuesque  boulder  clad  in  snow. 
This  disguise  also  enabled  them  to  come  with  stealthy  step 
upon  wild  game.  In  autumn  their  horses  were  painted 
yellow  and  they  wore  a  garb  of  yellow  so  that  fringing  the 
edge  of  the  forest  they  could  not  be  distinguished  from  the 
leaves  of  the  dying  year.  The  blue-green  of  the  sagebrush, 
so  conspicuously  omnipresent  on  the  prairies,  furnished 
the  Indian  with  another  helpful  form  of  disguise.  He  would 
almost  completely  disrobe  and  paint  his  face,  his  arms,  and 
his  hair,  as  well  as  the  body  of  his  horse,  exactly  the  colour 
of  the  sagebrush;  and  when  scouting,  after  their  crouching 
fashion,  among  the  clusters  of  sagebrush,  or  riding  in  the 
distance  along  the  verdure-covered  banks  of  a  stream,  the 
disguise  would  be  so  absolutely  complete  that  detection 


•~   L 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  27 

became  a  difficult  task.     It    was  an  ingenious  and  artistic 
display  of  war  talent. 

We  are  led  to  wonder  often  concerning  the  Indian's  passion 
for  his  coup  stick  (pronounced  coo).  This  rod,  bedecked  with 
eagle  feathers  and  his  own  colour  scheme,  is  the  Indian's 
badge  of  empire.  It  is  the  "Victoria  Cross"  of  his  deeds  of 
valour.  In  battle  he  rushes  amid  his  foes,  touches  the  enemy 
with  his  coup  stick --that  man  is  his  prisoner,  and  he  has 
counted  a  coup.  He  slays  an  enemy,  then  rushes  up  and 
touches  him  with  the  stick,  takes  his  scalp;  another  coup  is 
counted.  The  credit  of  victory  was  taken  for  three  brave  deeds : 
killing  an  enemy,  scalping  an  enemy,  or  being  the  first  to  strike 
an  enemy,  alive  or  dead;  any  one  of  these  e'ntitles  a  man  to 
rank  as  a  warrior  and  to  recount  his  exploit  in  public;  but 
to  be  the  first  to  touch  an  enemy  is  regarde'd  as  the  bravest 
deed  of  all,  as  it  implied  close  approach  in  battle.  In  the 
last  Great  Indian  Council  and  on  the  journey  home  the 
attention  of  the  writer  was  called  to  the  prominence  given 
to  the  coup  stick.  They  are  present  at  all  ceremonial  func 
tions  and  are  carried  on  all  ceremonial  parades.  The  warrior 
who  can  strike  a  tepee  of  the  enemy  in  a  charge  upon  a  home 
camp  thus  counted  coup  upon  it  and  is  entitled  to  reproduce 
its  particular  design  in  the  next  new  tepee  which  he  made  for  his 
own  use,  and  to  perpetuate  the  pattern  in  his  family.  The  eagle 


36  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

feathers  on  the  stick  can  only  be  placed  there  after  the  warrior 
has  counted  his  coup,  recounted  it  in  public,  and  the  deed  has 
met  with  the  approval  of  all  the  warriors.  The  eagle,  the  proud 
est  and  most  victorious  of  birds,  then  yielded  a  feather,  which 
is  deftly  fastened  with  a  circle  of  shining  beads  to  the  stick, 
and  the  proud  victor  flaunts  another  emblem  of  his  bravery. 

The  buffalo,  once  the  king  of  the  prairies,  has  been  prac 
tically  exterminated.  Perhaps  no  greater  grief  has  ever 
entered  into  the  life  of  the  Indian  than  this  wilful  waste  and 
irreparable  loss.  To  this  hour  the  Indian  mourns  the  going 
away  of  the  buffalo.  He  cannot  be  reconciled.  He  dates 
every  joyful  and  profitable  event  in  his  life  to  the  days  of  the 
buffalo.  In  the  assembly  of  chiefs  at  the  last  Great  Council 
the  buffalo  was  the  burden  of  every  reminiscence.  These 
veteran  chiefs  studied  With  melancholy  eyes  the  old  buffalo 
trails,  and  in  contemplation  of  the  days  of  the  chase  they 
said,  as  they  thought  backward,  "My  heart  is  lonely  and 
my  spirit  cries."  So  much  did  they  love  the  buffalo  that 
the  Indian  children  played  hunting  the  buffalo.  The  animal 
furnished  food  and  clothing,  and  many  parts  of  the  stalwart 
frame  they  counted  as  sacred.  The  annihilation  of  these 
vast  herds  aroused  the  darkest  passions  in  the  heart  of  the 
Indian,  and  many  times  stirred  his  war  spirit  and  sent  him 
forth  to  do  battle  against  the  aggressors.  Within  the  nine 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  29 

years  between  1874  and  1883  over  eight  millions  of  buffalo 
were  ruthlessly  slain.  But  the  war  curtain  of  the  Indian 
has  been  rung  down,  and  the  vast  area  which  twoscore  years 
ago  supported  these  vast  herds  of  wild  game  is  covered  to-day 
with  domestic  animals  and  teems  with  agricultural  life, 
furnishing  food  supplies  for  millions  upon  millions  all  over 
the  civilized  world. 

HIS  HOME  LIFE 

Far  stretches  of  prairie,  winding  watercourses,  leagues 
of  white  desert  with  only  the  clouds  in  the  sky  and  the  shadow 
of  the  clouds  on  the  blistering  sand,  an  army  of  buttes  and 
crags,  storm  carved,  forests  whose  primeval  stillness  mocks  the 
calendar  of  man,  the  haunts  of  the  eagle,  the  antelope,  the  deer 
and  the  buffalo  —  and  the  edge  of  the  curtain  is  lifted  on  the 
land  where  the  Indian  roamed  and  where  he  made  his  home. 

Game  has  been  found,  a  semi-circle  of  cone-shaped  tepees 
dot  the  green  of  the  plain;  a  stream,  tree-fringed,  fresh  from 
the  mountains,  flows  by  the  camp  —  a  camp  that  in  earlier 
times  was  pitched  upon  some  tableland  as  an  outlook  for 
the  enemy,  white  or  red.  Horses  are  browsing  near  at  hand 
or  far  afield;  old  warriors  and  medicine  men  sit  in  the  shade 
and  smoke  the  long-stemmed,  red  sandstone  pipe,  and  tell 
of  the  days  of  yore.  Gayly  clad  figures  dart  hither  and  yon  as 


30  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

the  women  are  bent  upon  their  tasks.  Great  loads  of  wood 
are  brought  into  camp  on  an  Indian  woman's  back.  She 
carries  water  from  the  river,  bakes  the  cake,  upturned  against 
the  fire,  boils  the  coffee  and  then  all  are  seated  on  the  ground 
when  they  partake  of  jerked  beef,  coffee,  bread,  and  berries. 
Hands  are  better  than  knives  and  forks,  one  cup  answers 
for  many,  and  the  strip  of  dried  beef  is  passed  along  that  all 
may  cut  off  his  desired  portion.  A  noisy,  gleeful  group  of 
children  play  with  their  dolls  and  their  dogs  —  dogs  that 
are  made  to  serve  as  beasts  of  burden  and  instruments  of 
torture.  At  night  beds  are  made  on  the  ground  around  the 
interior  circle  of  the  tepee  and  the  chill  of  frost  is  driven  out 
by  a  fire  in  the  very  centre  —  the  most  perfectly  ventilated 
structure  in  the  world  —  the  air  passing  underneath  the 
edge  of  the  tepee  in  the  loop  where  it  is  tied  at  the  bottom  of 
the  poles,  then  passing  on  out  through  the  opening  at  the 
top,  carrying  with  it  all  dust  and  smoke.  The  Indian  never 
knew  anything  about  tuberculosis  until  the  white  man  con 
fined  him  in  log  cabins  where  a  score  of  people  live  in  one 
room,  the  cracks  and  keyhole  entirely  filled,  and  where  they 
breath  each  other  over  times  without  number.  Within  the 
tepee  the  chief  has  the  place  of  honour.  A  rest  is  made  with 
supports  like  an  easel.  A  lattice-work  of  slender  willow  rods 
passed  down  the  front,  which  is  covered  by  a  long  strip  of 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  31 

buffalo  hide.  Against  this  the  chief  rests.  Each  member  of 
the  family  has  his  allotted  place  inside  the  lodge  and  he  may 
decorate  his  own  section  according  to  ability  or  fancy.  Here 
the  warrior  hangs  his  war-bonnet  and  sometimes  records  his 
achievements  in  the  chase  or  on  the  warpath.  Lying  all 
about  the  circle  are  many  highly  coloured  parflesche  bags 
containing  the  minor  details  of  dress  or  any  personal  possession. 
Many  of  the  tepees  in  an  Indian  village  are  embellished  with 
Indian  paintings  setting  forth  the  heroic  deeds  of  the  warriors 
who  abide  in  the  lodge.  The  figures  are  often  grotesque 
and  without  parallel  in  the  realm  of  art.  The  medicine  is 
given  a  conspicuous  place  in  the  lodge.  No  one  sits  or  lies 
down  on  the  side  of  the  tepee  where  they  have  placed  the 
medicine  of  the  household,  and  when  they  pass  it  on  entering 
or  leaving  the  lodge  all  heads  are  bowed.  The  medicine 
tepee  is  distinct  from  all  others.  It  is  painted  a  maroon, 
with  a  moon  in  green  surrounded  by  a  yellow  circle.  The 
medicine  of  the  ordinary  Indian  family  is  hung  over  the 
entrance  of  the  doorway  or  suspended  on  a  pole,  and  may 
consist  of  a  wolf  skin  or  a  dark  blanket  rolled  in  oblong  fashion 
containing  the  sacred  tokens  of  the  family.  Every  Indian 
family  takes  pride  in  the  ownership  of  a  bevy  of  dogs.  They 
are  rich  in  dogs.  In  our  camp  of  about  thirty  tepees  a 
reliable  Indian  estimated  that  there  were  over  three  hundred 


32  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

dogs.  These  canines  have  free  run  of  the  lodge,  and  at 
night  they  crawl  in  under  the  edge  of  the  canvas  and  sleep 
by  their  Indian  master.  Let  an  intruder  enter  the  camp  during 
the  hours  of  darkness  and  they  rush  out  simultaneously* 
howling  like  a  pack  of  wolves  until  one  might  think  the 
bowels  of  the  earth  had  given  forth  an  eruption  of  dogs. 
The  Indian  warrior  makes  a  companion  of  his  dog,  and  he 
can  show  no  greater  hospitality  to  a  guest  than  to  kill  his 
favourite  friend  and  serve  his  visitor  with  dog  soup.  To 
refuse  this  diet  is  an  insult  most  vital. 

The  Indian  woman  is  master  of  the  lodge.  She  carries 
the  purse.  Any  money  that  comes  into  the  hands  of  the 
husband  is  immediately  handed  over.  The  servile  tasks  of 
the  camp  are  performed  by  the  women.  Herein  we  have  an 
expression  of  the  law  of  equality.  The  husband  has  to  per 
form  the  exhausting  and  dangerous  task  of  hunting  wild  game 
for  food  and  the  skins  for  clothing.  He  had  to  protect  the 
camp  against  hostile  attacks,  and  the  woman  felt  that  her  task 
was  easy  in  comparison.  The  Indian  child  rules  the  family. 
They  are  rarely,  if  ever,  corrected.  No  Indian  mother  was 
ever  known  to  strike  her  child.  If  they  want  anything  they 
cry  until  they  get  it  —  and  they  know  how  to  cry.  In  play 
they  are  as  mirthful  and  boisterous  as  any  white  child.  They 
ride  mock  horses,  and  play  mud  ball.  The  Indian  boy  pro- 


»   . 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  33 

pares  willow  sticks,  peels  off  the  bark,  then  rolls  the  wet 
clay  into  balls,  and,  sticking  the  ball  on  the  end  of  the  twig, 
he  throws  it  at  a  mark  with  great  speed  and  accuracy.  Per 
haps  the  most  popular  sport  among  the  children  is  what  they 
term  the  stick  game.  Again  willow  rods  are  used  without 
the  bark,  only  this  time  they  are  cut  short  enough  to  be 
rigid,  and  they  drive  them  with  great  velocity  up  an  inclined 
board.  When  the  stick  leaves  the  board  it  speeds  like  an 
arrow  far  in  the  distance.  Every  Indian  boy  and  girl  owns 
a  pony,  from  which  they  are  almost  inseparable,  and  which 
they  ride  with  fearless  abandon. 

While  men  are  off  in  search  of  game  the  women  make  bead 
work  of  a  most  bewitching  order,  meanwhile  watching  the 
pappoose,  fastened  completely  in  its  wooden  bead-covered 
cradle,  only  the  head  protruding.  The  cradle  is  hung  from  a 
lodge  pole  or  the  bough  of  a  tree,  rattles  and  bells  playing  in 
the  breeze.  Other  women  gather  in  the  shade  and  play  the 
game  of  plum  stone,  a  gambling  game.  They  use  the  stones 
of  the  wild  plum,  which  they  colour  with  fanciful  devices, 
and  toss  them  up  in  a  wooden  bowl. 

The  wooing  of  Indian  lovers  varies  with  the  tribes.     One 
pair  of  lovers  seal  their  vows  by  standing  a   little   removed 
from  the  parental  lodge,  with  a  blanket  covering  their  heads. 
In  another  tribe  the  negotiations  are  made  entirely  through 


34  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

the  parents,  when  the  transaction  resolves  itself  into  a  barter, 
so  many  ponies  for  a  bride;  while  in  still  another  tribe,  when 
a  love  fancy  strikes  a  young  man,  he  arranges  to  meet  the 
young  woman  who  has  attracted  him  as  she  goes  to  the  river 
for  water.  They  pass  each  other  in  the  path  without  any 
recognition.  This  occurs  two  or  three  times.  Finally  if 
the  young  girl  welcomes  these  attentions  she  looks  toward 
him  as  they  pass.  That  night  he  comes  to  the  lodge  of  her 
parents,  remains  outside,  beating  a  tomtom  and  singing  the 
love  song.  The  young  girl  then  goes  out  to  meet  him  and 
they  sit  outside  and  talk.  The  next  morning  the  mother 
asks  her  daughter  about  the  affair,  and  then  the  mother  invites 
the  young  man  to  come  and  dine  with  them  and  sit  around  the 
campfire.  Thus  the  courtship  proceeds  until  he  finally  says,  "I 
will  take  this  girl  for  my  wife,"  and  the  two  go  to  their  own  lodge. 
The  Indian  has  an  unwritten  code  of  family  morals  to  which 
he  most  rigidly  adheres.  In  some  tribes  no  Indian  will  cross 
the  threshold  of  another  if  the  wife  of  that  man  is  alone,  and  in 
others  no  brother  goes  into  the  house  where  his  sister  is  unless 
she  has  a  companion.  This  is  an  ancient  law  and  belongs  to 
many  tribes.  The  Crows  have  an  eccentric  custom  that  a  sis 
ter  after  marriage  is  not  allowed  to  be  seen  in  public  with  her 
brother.  Should  an  Indian  alienate  the  affections  of  the 
wife  of  another  Indian  or  steal  his  horse  the  injured  one  would 


INDIAN  IMPRINTS  35 

he  justified  in  taking  his  rifle  and  killing  the  offender.  The 
whole  camp  would  sanction  the  action  on  the  ground  that 
it  would  rid  the  camp  of  bad  blood. 

The  Indian's  civility  and  hospitality,  both  to  his  own  kind 
and  to  strangers,  has  been  a  marked  feature  of  his  character 
from  the  coming  of  the  white  man  to  the  present  day.  When 
Columbus  touched  the  shores  of  the  New  World  the  friendly 
Caribs  gave  him  hearty  welcome.  The  heart's  right  hand  of 
fellowship  was  stretched  out  in  welcome  and  hospitality  as 
explorers  and  settlers  landed  on  American  soil.  Dignity, 
generosity,  and  courtesy  marked  the  attitude  of  the  Indian 
toward  these  new  white  strangers.  The  character  generally 
attributed  to  the  Indian  is  that  of  a  savage,  but  this  blemish 
came  upon  him  through  contact  with  the  white  man.  Their 
ingenuous  and  trustful  nature  quickly  degenerated  as  they 
were  enslaved,  betrayed,  and  slain.  Advantage  was  taken 
of  their  ignorance  and  kindness.  Then  came  on  a  race  war 
unparalleled  in  ferocity  and  barbarism.  The  inexorable 
march  of  civilization  regardless  of  ethics  swept  on  until  we 
heard  the  Indians'  war  cry  and  failed  to  see  the  diviner  grace 
of  friendship.  The  Indian  returned  with  interest  every  injury 
and  hardship,  every  bitter  assault  and  wicked  aggression. 
He  paid  in  full  all  accounts  in  the  coin  of  pitiless  revenge. 
These  shadows  obliterate  our  thought  of  him  as  courtier  and 


36  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

hospitable  host.  The  Indian  will  divide  his  last  crust  and 
then  go  hungry  himself  that  you  may  have  his  half  of  the 
crust.  Had  it  not  been  for  Indian  generosity  in  furnishing 
supplies  of  food,  the  early  settlers  in  both  New  England  and 
Virginia  must  have  perished  with  hunger.  Every  guest 
entering  an  Indian  wigwam  is  met  by  all  the  graces  of  hos 
pitality  —  in  cordial  greeting  —  in  a  splendid  home  feeling. 

Indian  trails  are  no  longer  worn  deep  through  the  prairie 
sod,  they  have  been  growing  ever  more  dim  and  indistinct. 
It  is  to-day,  the  "thin  red  line,"  a  swift  gathering  of  all  that 
is  left,  in  the  gloaming,  after  the  sunset. 


THE   STORY  OF  THE   CHIEFS 


THE  American  mind  could  conceive  a  republic  but  not  an 
Indian.  America  could  conquer  the  Old  World  and  rise 
redeemed  and  victorious  when  rent  by  the  awful  whirlwind 
of  internal  strife.  But  the  red  man  defied  her.  His  call 
rang  across  the  plain  like  an  autumn  storm  through  the  forests, 
and  his  fellow  red  men  answered  like  clustering  leaves.  His 
tory  shudders  at  the  tale.  Now  look  over  the  shoulder. 
When  the  fiery  tongue  of  the  Revolution  blazed  into  the 
undying  speech  of  liberty,  Madison,  Mason,  Patrick  Henry, 
and  Edmund  Randolph  uttered  their  declaration  that  like 
a  sunbeam  has  been  written  upon  every  page  of  the  nation's 
history:  "All  men  are  by  nature  equally  free  and  have  inherent 
rights  —  namely,  the  enjoyment  of  life  and  liberty,  with  the 
means  of  acquiring  and  possessing  property  and  pursuing 
and  obtaining  happiness  and  safety."  Upon  the  inviolability 
of  this  sublime  doctrine  the  early  colonists  fought  for  liberty, 
and  the  nation  flung  a  battle  line  more  than  two  thousand  miles 
long,  and  engaged  at  arms  over  two  millions  of  men,  in  order 
to  procure  liberty  for  another  race.  Once  again,  set  each 
luminous  word  in  this  declaration  over  against  the  disposition 

37 


38  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

and  destiny  that  we  have  imposed  upon  the  North  American 
Indian.  And  then  picture  these  famous  Indian  chiefs, 
gathered  from  many  widely  scattered  wigwams;  hear  again 
and  for  the  last  time  a  life  story  that  rounds  itself  out  into 
an  epic  of  sorrow;  listen  for  the  heavy  footfalls  of  departing 
greatness;  watch  the  grim  faces,  sternly  set  toward  the  western 
sky  rim,  heads  still  erect,  eagle  feathers,  emblems  of  victory, 
moving  proudly  into  the  twilight,  and  a  long,  solitary  peal 
of  distant  thunder  joining  the  refrain  of  the  soul  —  and  it 
is  night. 

CHIEF  PLENTY  COUPS 

Chief  Plenty  Coups,  chief  of  the  Crow  Nation,  was  exalted 
to  the  head  of  all  the  Crows  because  of  his  untarnished  valour 
on  the  field  of  battle,  because  of  the  supremacy  of  his  states 
manship,  and  his  loyalty  to  the  interests  of  his  tribe.  He 
derived  his  name,  "many  coups,"  from  the  fact  that  he 
was  able  to  add  eagle  feather  after  eagle  feather  to  his  coup 
stick,  counting  coups  in  victory.  When  a  lad  of  sixteen  his 
brother  was  killed  by  the  Sioux.  The  boy,  bewildered  with 
grief,  climbed  for  two  days,  struggling  to  reach  the  summit  of 
some  high  peak  in  the  Crazy  Mountains,  there  to  give  vent 
to  his  grief  and  pray  for  revenge.  While  he  prayed  to  the 
sun  he  mutilated  his  body.  Upon  those  lonely  heights,  never 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  39 

before  desecrated  by  human  footsteps,  he  dedicated  his 
life  to  battle.  Before  he  was  twenty-six  he  had  counted  a 
coup  of  each  kind  and  was  made  a  chief,  and  named  "Many 
Achievements."  At  sixty-three  years  of  age  he  stands  as 
erect  as  a  solitary  pine  on  a  lonely  hill  crest.  He  has  the 
bearing  and  dignity  of  a  royal  prince  and  wears  his  honours 
and  war  dress  with  all  the  pride  and  courtliness  of  a  patrician. 
He  glories  in  the  fact  that  from  his  earliest  days  he  has  never 
fought  the  white  man,  but  his  life  has  been  a  long  series  of 
conflicts  with  other  Indian  nations.  Before  the  white  man 
ever  placed  his  footsteps  upon  Indian  soil  his  days  were  filled 
with  struggle  in  warding  off  the  blows  of  hostile  tribes  who 
sought  the  women  and  the  horses  of  his  own  people.  Then, 
to  use  his  own  expression:  "The  Great  Father  ordered  that 
we  should  stop  fighting  and  live  in  peace,  and  since  that  time 
we  have  had  allotments  of  land,  schools  have  been  built  for  the 
education  of  our  children,  and  as  an  illustration  of  the 
feelings  of  my  heart  to-day,  I  am  at  peace  with  all  the  tribes, 
they  are  all  my  brothers,  and  I  meet  them  all  as  one  man. 
I  shall  live  for  my  country  and  shall  remain  in  peace,  as  I 
feel  peaceful  toward  my  country."  The  reign  of  this  great 
chief  over  his  tribe  is  one  of  benignity  and  beneficence.  He 
is  greatly  concerned  in  his  last  days  to  raise  up  young  men 
who  shall  know  the  rights  and  opportunities  of  his  people 


40  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

and  who  shall  thus  have  influence  at  Washington,  which  he 
has  many  times  visited  and  where  he  is  always  welcome.  The 
smile  of  Chief  Plenty  Coups  is  worth  crossing  many  miles 
of  prairie  to  see.  It  was  eminently  fitting  that  this  great 
chief  on  the  grounds  of  his  own  Indian  tribe  should  receive 
the  chiefs  attending  the  last  Great  Indian  Council. 

CHIEF  RED  WHIP* 

Chief  Red  Whip  is  considered  by  his  tribe  as  one  of  the 
greatest  of  the  old  hunters  and  warriors.  The  varying  for 
tunes  of  the  Gros  Ventres,  the  strenuous  war  career  of  this 
noted  chief,  have  ploughed  deep  furrows  and  written 

serious  lines  in  his  face.     He  is  too  old  a  man  at  fifty-five, 

» 
but  wounds  and  scars  and  battle  rush  age  upon  any  man. 

Chief  Red  Whip  said  to  me:  "The  greatest  event  in  my  life 
was  my  fight  with  the  Sioux  in  the  Little  Rocky  Mountains. 
There  were  eleven  Crows  and  three  Gros  Ventres  in  our 
band;  our  leader  was  a  Crow.  There  were  about  one  hundred 
and  thirty  Sioux.  W^e  were  making  the  ascent  of  the  Little 
Rockies,  and  my  friends  went  down  into  the  ravine  to  shoot 
some  buffalo.  While  they  were  down  there  shooting  the 
buffalo  and  cutting  them  up  the  leader  sent  me  to  do  scout 
work.  While  I  was  up  on  the  hills  I  saw  the  Sioux  sneaking 
up  to  where  we  had  killed  the  buffalo.  I  ran  down  at  once  to 

*  Since  deceased 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  41 

my  friends  and  told  them.  We  went  back  a  little  ways  and 
made  a  fort  and  got  ready  to  fight.  I  was  painted  yellow  and 
red  and  was  naked.  When  the  fort  was  finished  I  went  my 
self,  taking  two  others  with  me,  to  find  out  the  location  of  the 
Sioux.  WTe  went  right  up  to  where  I  saw  them  last.  I  could 
tell  by  their  tracks  that  there  were  a  great  many  of  them.  I 
went  up  a  little  ridge  that  divided  our  band  from  the  Sioux,  and 
just  as  I  stuck  my  head  up  above  the  grass  they  all  fired  at 
me,  about  a  hundred  guns,  but  they  did  not  hit  me.  When  my 
friends  heard  the  firing  they  came  to  where  I  was,  and  we 
went  right  down  on  the  Sioux,  and  the  Sioux  came  at  us, 
and  we  had  a  fight  for  a  few  minutes  at  close  quarters.  After 
we  had  a  short  fight  we  rushed  right  on  to  the  Sioux  and  they 
retreated.  The  Sioux  had  to  go  up  a  hill  and  we  wounded 
some  and  killed  others.  After  the  Sioux  had  got  up  the  hill 
I  was  the  first  one  to  get  to  a  man  who  was  killed.  I  scalped 
him  and  claimed  everything  he  had.  After  the  Sioux  found 
out  that  we  were  only  a  small  band  they  rushed  down  upon  us 
and  we  retreated  to  where  we  had  made  the  fort.  Inside 
this  fort  there  were  two  Crows  killed  with  one  bullet.  The 
leader  of  the  Sioux  band  was  Chief  Flying  Cloud.  I  found  out 
afterward  who  he  was.  It  was  Flying  Cloud  that  we  killed 
coming  up  the  hill;  he  was  trying  to  protect  his  band.  When 
we  were  in  the  fort  the  Sioux  people  surrounded  us.  After 


42  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

the  two  Crows  were  killed  the  leader  of  our  band  became 
scared.  I  jumped  out  of  the  fort  and  led  the  way  for  my  band. 
We  ran  the  Sioux  back  to  the  Little  Rockies,  and  then  I  told 
my  friends  to  escape.  As  we  retreated  the  Sioilx  pursued  us. 
One  Sioux  was  in  advance  and  called  upon  me  to  stop,  and  as 
I  stopped  he  fired  at  me  but  missedTme,andthenI  fired  and  killed 
him.  The  Sioux  then  rushed  on  me  so  that  I  could  not  scalp 
the  Sioux  I  had  killed.  We  ran  on  into  the  mountains  and 
escaped  into  another  fort.  In  this  last  fort  one  of  the  Gros 
Ventres  was  shot  and  wounded.  After  we  had  rested  a  while 
the  Sioux  surrounded  us  again,  and  I  rushed  out  at  the  Sioux 
so  that  my  friends  might  escape  again.  While  we  were  re 
treating  again  the  Sioux  shot  one  of  the  Gros  Ventres  through 
the  leg,  and  he  had  to  crawl  on  his  hands  and  knees.  I 
stayed  with  this  wounded  man,  and  the  rest  made  their 
escape.  I  took  this  man  on  my  back  and  carried  him  to  some 
water  at  the  head  of  a  coulee.  This  Gros  Ventre  told  me  to  go 
on  and  make  my  escape  and  leave  him  alone  to  die.  While 
we  were  resting  in  the  weeds  at  the  washout  the  Sioux  sur 
rounded  us  again  and  waited  for  us  to  show  ourselves.  While 
we  were  waiting  my  wounded  friend  gave  me  his  knife  and 
paint  and  told  me  to  tell  his  mother  that  she  might  have  all 
his  horses;  then  I  jumped  out  and  ran  to  catch  up  with  my 
friends.  After  I  had  left  my  wounded  friend  about  a  quarter 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  43 

of  a  mile  I  looked  back  to  see  how  the  Sioux  would  treat  him. 
There  was  one  shot  fired,  and  they  all  jumped  into  the  wash 
out,  and  then  I  made  my  escape.  This  gave  me  a  great  name 
in  my  tribe  and  among  the  Sioux  and  the  Crows. 

"Once  on  Tongue  River  there  was  a  white  soldier  of  the 
United  States  troops  whom  the  Indians  called  Bear  Shirt;  he 
wore  long  hair  like  Custer.  I  was  with  him  scouting  for 
him.  We  called  him  Bear  Shirt  because  he  used  to  wear  a 
bear  coat.  We  came  upon  a  band  of  Sioux,  and  there  was  a 
fight.  This  was  a  long  fight,  and  there  were  many  killed  on 
both  sides.  In  this  fight  when  the  Sioux  got  the  best  of  the 
soldiers  and  the  soldiers  retreated,  I  stayed  behind  to  protect 
them.  The  soldiers  were  so  tired  they  could  not  run,  and 
the  Sioux  killed  off  those  who  were  too  tired  to  run.  I 
remained  in  the  rear  to  protect  them  until  they  came  to  the 
main  body  of  troops.  When  we  were  rested  we  went  back  to 
the  main  body  of  the  Sioux  and  had  another  long  fight  and 
fought  until  sundown.  There  were  a  great  many  killed  on 
both  sides.  We  camped  right  where  we  quit  fighting.  The 
next  morning  we  started  to  fight  again  and  fought  all  day; 
again  many  were  killed  on  both  sides.  The  next  day  we 
went  over  the  two  battlefields  and  gathered  up  the  dead  sol 
diers  and  buried  them.  These  battles  were  on  Tongue  River. 
After  we  had  buried  the  soldiers  I  came  back  with  the  rest 


44  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

of  the  troops  as  far  as  the  Yellowstone,  and  then  went  home." 
And  yet  such  heroisms  wrought  out  in  lonely  mountain 
fastnesses  or  on  sun-parched  plains  will  go  unhonoured  and 
unsung. 

CHIEF  TIMBO 

Chief  Timbo,  known  as  Tah-cha-chi,  or  Hairless,  ranks 
as  one  of  the  leading  chiefs  of  the  Comanche  Indians.  With 
his  stature  of  more  than  six  feet,  he  is  a  commanding  figure 
among  any  Indians.  The  portrait  of  Timbo  reveals  the 
striking  difference  to  be  found  in  the  physiognomy  of  the 
southern  tribes  as  compared  with  the  northern  tribes  of  the 
Plains  Indians.  In  the  photogravure  presented  Chief  Timbo 
holds  a  long  steel-headed  spear,  girdled  with  varicoloured 
beads,  ornamented  with  great  tufts  of  eagle  feathers,  and 
at  the  end  of  its  ten  feet  of  length  bearing  a  picturesque 
plume.  This  staff  descended  to  Timbo  from  Quanah  Parker, 
once  the  leading  chief  of  the  Comanches.  Chief  Timbo 
brought  this  insignia  of  office  from  the  southland  to  the 
council  of  the  chiefs.  In  his  own  tribe  the  possession  of 
such  a  mace  answers  among  the  Indians  for  the  sceptre  of 
a  monarch.  It  is  a  coup  stick  with  manifold  emphasis. 
Chief  Timbo  accompanied  the  Kiowa,  Cheyenne,  and  Apache 
chiefs  to  the  council.  They  came  as  brothers,  but  no  fierce 
fighting  among  these  warlike  tribes  found  a  stronger  or  more 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  45 

fearless  foe  in  the  days  gone  by  than  this  stalwart  chief. 
In  the  assembly  of  the  chiefs  he  moved  among  his  fellows  with 
a  solemn  and  ponderous  dignity,  always  silent  and  full  of 
commanding  reserve.  In  the  battles  that  raged  over  the 
southern  plains  even  far  to  the  north,  between  the  Comanches 
and  the  fierce  Kiowas,  Chief  Timbo  led  his  fighting  bands  to 
certain  victory.  Fierce  blood  runs  in  the  veins  of  this  masterful 
man,  and  only  within  recent  years,  and  then  not  easily,  has 
he  submitted  to  Government  rule. 

CHIEF  APACHE  JOHN 

The  very  name  Apache  means  enemy  and  stands  on  the 
pages  of  all  Indian  history  as  a  synonym  for  terror.  Since 
our  knowledge  of  them,  the  Apaches  have  been  hostile  and 
in  every  conflict  they  were  favoured  with  rare  and  gifted 
leadership.  It  required  the  skill,  strategy,  and  profoundest 
generalship  of  two  of  the  greatest  generals  of  the  Civil  War 
to  subdue  and  capture  the  daring  and  reckless  Geronimo, 
whose  recent  death  closed  the  final  chapter  of  a  long  line  of 
unspeakable  Apache  atrocities.  Koon-kah-za-chy,  familiarly 
known  as  Apache  John,  because  of  his  surrender  to  civiliza 
tion,  visited  the  last  Great  Indian  Council  as  a  representative 
of  one  of  the  many  groups  of  this  great  body  of  Indians  scat 
tered  through  the  southwest.  There  is  an  indefinable 


46  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

air  of  stoicism  in  the  demeanour  of  all  of  these  great  chieftains. 
The  subject  of  this  text  is  not  lacking  in  this  prominent 
Indian  element.  A  keen  and  piercing  eye,  a  sadly  kind 
face,  a  tall  and  erect  figure,  Apache  John  bears  his  sixty  years 
of  life  with  broad  and  unbending  shoulders.  He  was  fond 
of  becoming  reminiscent  and  said:  "The  first  thing  I  can 
remember  is  my  father  telling  me  about  war.  We  then 
lived  in  tepees  like  the  one  in  which  we  are  now  sitting.  We 
were  then  moving  from  place  to  place,  and  the  old  people 
were  constantly  talking  about  war.  That  was  the  school 
in  which  I  was  brought  up  -  -  a  war  school.  We  kept  on 
moving  from  place  to  place  until  I  grew  to  manhood.  Then 
I  came  to  see  a  real  battle.  The  first  time  I  was  in  a  battle 
I  thought  of  what  my  father  had  told  me.  He  told  me  to  be 
a  brave  man  and  fight  and  never  run  away.  I  think  this 
was  good  fighting,  because  I  know  what  fighting  meant  from 
what  my  father  had  told  me.  At  that  time  if  an  Indian 
wanted  to  win  distinction  he  must  be  a  good  man  as  well  as 
a  good  fighter.  I  was  in  a  good  many  battles,  until  finally 
I  had  to  give  up  fighting.  About  seven  years  ago  the  Gov 
ernment  gave  me  advice,  and  with  that  advice  they  gave  me 
different  thoughts,  and  to-day  I  am  one  of  the  head  men  among 
the  Apaches.  I  am  head  chief  among  the  Kiowa-Apaches 
and  I  counsel  peace  among  them.  I  used  to  think  that  my 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  47 

greatest  honour  was  to  be  won  in  fighting,  but  when  I  visited 
the  Commissioner  in  Washington  he  gave  me  other  thoughts 
and  other  ways  of  thinking  and  doing  until  I  felt  that  the 
new  kind  of  life  was  the  better.  When  the  Commissioner 
told  me  these  things  I  wrote  them  down  in  my  mind  and  I 
thought  that  it  was  good.  One  of  the  greatest  events  in  my 
life  was  when  I  found  myself  surrounded  by  two  tribes  of 
my  enemies.  This  fight  was  by  the  El  Paso  River,  and  the 
bands  of  our  enemies  wore  yellow  headgear;  the  fight  con 
tinued  all  day  long  until  about  five  o'clock,  when  the  Apaches 
were  victorious." 

By  long  and  stubborn  tutelage  both  from  his  father  and 
the  members  of  his  tribe,  this  boy  was  taught  the  war  spirit 
and  in  manhood  he  exemplified  it.  The  principles  of  peace 
taught  him  in  one  short  hour  at  Washington  changed  the 
whole  tenor  of  his  life :  a  pathetic  commentary  on  what  civil 
ization  might  have  accomplished  with  the  Indian. 

CHIEF  RUNNING  BIRD 

Ta-ne-haddle,  Chief  Running  Bird,  is  an  eminent  leader 
of  the  Kiowa  tribe  now  located  in  Oklahoma.  His  massive 
frame,  lion-like  head,  and  dignified  bearing  show  few  of  the 
marks  of  the  more  than  threescore  years  written  upon  his 
life.  His  very  walk  betokens  supremacy  and  his  constant 


48  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

demeanour  assumes  a  spirit  of  generalship.  His  large  head 
is  set  directly  upon  his  shoulders,  which  seems  to  give  no 
neck-play  for  his  voice,  which  issues  in  harsh  and  guttural 
tones. 

"In  the  old  times  when  the  Indians  used  to  live  in  tepees 
like  this,"  he  said,  "when  I  was  about  eighteen  years  old, 
I  began  to  go  out  with  war  parties.  I  have  been  in  many 
wars,  and  lived  in  tents  and  tepees  and  moved  from  one 
place  to  another,  and  all  this  time  I  kept  in  good  health.  I 
remember  a  fight  we  had  where  there  were  thirty-eight 
Indians  against  four  tribes.  The  battle  began  late  in  the 
evening  and  while  the  fight  was  raging  high  I  thought  I  would 
never  escape  with  my  life.  The  enemy  pressed  us  hotly, 
and  finally  we  killed  one  of  the  chiefs,  and  then  the  Indians 
turned  and  left,  and  that  saved  our  lives.5' 

The  construction  of  our  Indian  camp  on  the  banks  of  the 
Little  Horn  awakened  in  this  man,  as  it  did  in  all  the  Indians, 
a  disposition  to  turn  back  to  primitive  conditions.  Running 
Bird  said:  "I  was  very  glad  to  come  here  and  see  the  old- 
time  tepees,  the  kind  of  tepees  our  fathers  used  to  live  in. 
I  grew  up  to  manhood  myself  in  this  kind  of  a  tepee,  and  I 
had  good  health,  and  now  when  they  give  us  a  house 
to  live  in  I  am  not  healthy  at  all.  The  reason  we  cannot  have 
good  health  in  a  house  is  because  the  Great  Father  gave  us 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  49 

tepees  to  live  in  where  we  have  plenty  of  air;  we  feel  smothered 
in  a  house.  When  I  came  out  and  sleep  in  a  tepee  I  can 
sleep  a  great  deal  better.  I  am  getting  old  now,  and  am 
getting  up  in  years,  and  all  I  wish  at  the  present  time  is 
for  my  children  to  grow  up  industrious  and  work,  because  they 
cannot  get  honour  in  the  war  as  I  used  to  get  it.  They 
can  only  get  honour  by  working  hard.  I  cannot  teach  my 
children  the  way  my  father  taught  me,  that  the  way  to  get 
honour  was  to  go  to  war,  but  I  can  teach  my  children  that 
the  way  to  get  honour  is  to  go  to  work  and  be  good  men  and 
women.  I  shall  go  home  and  tell  the  other  Indians  and  our 
agent  about  you." 

And  thus  out  of  his  gruff,  austere,  and  soldier-like  person 
ality  there  issued  words  of  a  plain,  homely  philosophy  that 
marks  the  path  of  success  for  all  men.  "The  way  to  get 
honour  is  to  go  to  work  and  be  good  men  and  women." 

CHIEF  BRAVE  BEAR 

Brave  Bear,  in  the  language  of  the  Cheyennes,  of  whom  he 
is  head  chief,  is  Ni-go  High-ez,  Ni-go  meaning  bear,  and 
High-ez,  brave.  This  name  he  has  kept  to  the  standard  on 
many  a  hard-fought  field,  and  in  helping  to  reconstruct  his  tribe 
in  the  ways  of  civilization.  He  is  tactful  and  courteous, 
and  his  smile  resembles  the  sunlight  breaking  a  path  across 


50  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

a  darkened  sheet  of  water;  it  is  the  most  winsome  that  I 
have  seen  for  years  on  the  face  of  any  man. 

Showing  the  Indian's  long  continued  aversion  to  any  speech 
regarding  the  Custer  battle,  Brave  Bear  said:  "I  was  in  the 
battle  of  the  Little  Big  Horn.  The  Indians  called  the  General 
'Long  Hair/  It  is  a  fight  that  I  do  not  like  to  talk  about." 

Just  here  it  may  be  well  to  carry  in  our  minds  the  distinc 
tion  between  the  Northern  and  Southern  Cheyennes.  When 
the  tribe  was  a  compact  whole  they  were  constantly  pressed 
farther  into  the  plains  by  the  hostile  Sioux  and  established 
themselves  on  the  upper  branches  of  the  Platte  River.  In 
consequence  of  the  building  of  Bent's  Ford  upon  the  upper 
Arkansas  in  Colorado,  a  large  part  of  the  tribe  decided  to 
move  south,  the  other  section  moving  north  to  the  Yellow 
stone.  The  two  sections  of  the  one  tribe  have  since  been 
known  officially  as  the  Northern  and  Southern  Cheyennes. 
Ever  and  again  the  Southern  branch  of  the  tribe  came  to  the 
far  north  to  help  their  brothers  when  in  conflict.  This  may 
account  for  Brave  Bear  being  present  with  the  Northern 
Cheyennes  in  the  Custer  fight.  Then  came  the  story  of  Brave 
Bear  concerning  one  of  the  battles  in  the  south.  "There 
is,"  he  said,  "a  Cheyenne  called  'Tall  Bear';  he  was  the 
head  man  at  the  time  we  began  to  fight  down  on  the  Platte 
River.  From  that  hard  battle  we  were  returning  home.  In 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  51 

front  of  us  there  were  a  lot  of  soldiers  camped,  and  some  of 
the  Pawnee  scouts  were  with  the  soldiers.  We  thought  they 
were  Pawnee  tents,  but  when  we  came  close  enough  we  saw 
it  was  a  soldier  camp,  and  they  fired  upon  us  and  pursued 
us.  That  day  we  kept  on  fighting,  and  they  killed  three  of 
us.  It  was  a  great  fight,  and  it  still  remains  with  me  when 
I  think  about  it. 

"I  like  the  white  man's  way  of  living  to-day  better,  be 
cause  I  feel  that  when  the  new  day  comes  everything  else  is 
new,  and  the  things  of  the  white  man  grow  new  with  every 
day.  I  try  to  do  as  our  agent  directs.  I  have  never  had  any 
trouble  with  him." 

There  is  a  touch  of  humanness  about  these  tall,  graceful, 
feather-bedecked  men,  willingly  assuming  the  role  of  children, 
that  they  may  learn  the  better  ways  of  the  white  man.  The 
hard  ideals  of  the  warpath  are  all  merged  in  pursuing  the 
path  of  peace. 

CHIEF  UMAPINE 

This  eminent  chief  of  the  Cayuse  tribe  of  Umatilla  Indians, 
located  in  northern  Oregon,  resembles  in  stature  the  graceful 
outlines  of  a  forest  pine.  A  commanding  figure,  six  feet  two 
inches  in  height,  noble  and  dignified  in  bearing,  quiet  and 
reserved  in  manner,  he  creates  an  atmosphere  of  intellec- 


52  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

tuality.  His  speech  is  sparkling  and  eloquent.  His  face 
wears  the  soul-mark  of  serenity  and  triumph.  As  he  stood 
against  the  living  green  of  the  forest,  clad  in  the  rich  Indian 
raiment  of  his  tribe,  wolfskin,  gray  with  the  tinge  of  the 
prairies,  otterskin,  smooth  and  dark  like  the  velvet  of  moss, 
myriads  of  ermine  tails  glistening  white  in  the  sunlight, 
glimmering  beads  from  necklace  to  moccasins,  flaunting 
eagle  feathers  tipped  with  orange  and  crimson  tassels,  that 
must  have  floated  in  many  a  sky,  all  gave  to  this  man  the  ap 
pearance  of  some  god  of  the  forest  who  had  just  come  forth 
from  its  primeval  depths  bringing  with  him  the  laurels  of 
wood  and  mountain  crag  and  sky,  some  king  standing  on  the 
edge  of  the  wood  amazed  at  the  flatness  and  tameness  of 
the  valley  and  plains.  Umapine  stood  there  the  embodiment 
and  glorification  of  Indian  manners,  costume,  and  tradition, 
a  vivid  picture  of  Indian  life  and  story.  The  waymarks  of 
such  a  life  are  always  tense  witfi  interest:  they  are  more  so 
as  he  points  them  out  himself.  We  will  let  him  tell  his  own 
story: 

"It  was  the  custom  among  my  people  to  narrate  to  their 
children  the  history  of  the  past  and  they  narrated  to  me 
that  my  tribe  had  learned  to  make  clothing  from  furs  which 
were  gotten  from  animals,  and  this  clothing  was  comfortable 
during  the  winter  time  as  well  as  in  the  summer  time.  There  is 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  53 

still  some  of  this  clothing  remaining  among  older  Indians 
of  my  tribe.  My  understanding  is  that  all  the  Indians  in 
this  part  of  the  country  used  animal  furs  and  skins  for  clothing. 
The  old  Indians  believed  in  those  days  that  they  had  the 
best  kind  of  clothing,  but  they  do  not  feel  that  it  would  be 
right  at  the  present  time  to  dress  that  way,  as  the  Indians  of 
to-day  are  more  civilized.  Yet  the  clothes  that  we  have  now 
are  derived  from  animals.  We  get  fur  from  animals,  and  our 
blankets  and  clothes  are  made  from  animals.  From  that 
point  I  cannot  say  which  I  like  the  better.  I  like  the  cloth 
ing  of  civilized  people  as  far  as  I  can  see.  The  white  man's 
clothing  is  fit  for  men  to  wear.  I  like  to  wear  his  clothes 
very  well,  but  I  also  like  to  wear  the  clothing  my  people  used 
to  wear  in  the  olden  time,  but  I  do  not  like  to  wear  it  now  on 
account  of  my  friends  the  white  people,  who  live  with  me. 
I  remember  when  I  was  a  small  boy  I  used  to  see  so  many 
wagon  trains  going  west.  I  knew  these  were  white  people, 
but  at  that  time  I  did  not  know  where  they  were  going.  I 
saw  these  wagons  going  through  nearly  the  whole  summer, 
and  my  folks  told  me  these  people  were  going  west  and  were 
to  live  there,  and  that  I  must  not  injure  them  in  any  way, 
and  that  I  must  have  respect  for  them,  because  they  were 
always  kind  to  my  folks.  And  I  was  instructed  later  to 
respect  these  people,  and  so  I  did.  Furthermore,  my  grand- 


54  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

father  lived  on  a  river  called  Walla  Walla.  Many  white 
people  came  to  that  place  and  put  up  their  tents  and  lived 
there,  and  also  there  was  some  kind  of  other  people  which 
we  have  found  were  French.  My  grandfather  had  a  great 
respect  for  these  white  people  as  well  as  his  own  tribe,  and 
thought  very  much  of  them  and  tried  to  help  them  get  along. 
As  soon  as  the  other  tribes  learned  there  were  some  white 
people  living  near  my  grandfather's  place,  there  was  a  great 
gathering  of  the  tribes  to  meet  these  white  folks  who  were 
living  on  the  river.  I  have  it  in  my  heart  to  always  remember 
what  my  folks  told  me,  and  when  I  grew  old  enough  to  know 
I  had  respect  for  these  white  people  as  well  as  my  own  tribe, 
and  to-day  my  heart  is  just  the  same  as  it  was  in  those  days. 
Furthermore,  I  have  respect  for  any  kind  of  people;  it  does 
not  make  any  difference  to  me  from  what  part  of  ^the  country 
they  come.  It  does  not  make  any  difference  whether  I  don't 
understand  their  language,  but  I  always  have  respect  for 
any  kind  of  people  who  come  to  this  land,  and  to-day  I  am 
sitting  here  in  a  strange  country  and  I  am  worrying  about  my 
property  in  my  own  country,  but  at  the  same  time  I  am  re 
joicing  in  the  work  that  Mr.  Dixon  is  doing  here,  and  I  highly 
congratulate  him  in  this  work.  The  work  he  is  doing  here 
to-day  is  work  that  may  never  be  done  any  more  after  this, 
and  I  have  a  great  respect  for  him  this  day  because  he  is  taking 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  55 

these  photographs  of  my  friends  whom  I  meet  here  at  this 
place,  and  whom  I  will  never  see  any  more.  I  rejoice  to 
meet  my  own  class  of  people  who  are  coming  here  now. 
They  all  come  from  different  parts  of  the  United  States. 
I  cannot  speak  their  language  nor  can  I  understand  them  all, 
but  I  do  all  I  can  to  talk  with  them;  and  you,  too,  Mr.  Val 
entine,  I  am  thinking  of  you  as  I  am  here  talking  with  Mr. 
Dixon,  and  at  the  same  time  I  am  rejoicing  just  as  he  has 
opened  my  eyes  and  I  hope  that  we  will  get  along  well.  I 
am  going  to  say  I  have  respect  for  the  people  you  send  to 
this  country.  I  see  that  they  have  two  eyes,  they  have 
two  ears,  two  limbs,  two  feet,  and  fingers  as  I  have,  but 
we  all  have  one  head  and  one  heart;  we  all  breathe  the  same 
air  and  we  stand  on  the  earth  as  brothers.  The  only  dif 
ference  between  myself  and  the  white  man  is  that  his  com 
plexion  is  lighter  than  mine. 

"  I  have  a  great  love  for  you,  President  Taft,  although  I  never 
saw  your  face,  or  never  listened  to  any  of  your  talk,  but  I  know 
what  you  want,  and  I  find  you  are  greatly  interested  in  the 
Indian,  and  so  I  am  sitting  here  and  giving  the  history  of  the 
Indian  life,  which  will  be  a  great  benefit  to  you,  and  also  benefit 
the  people  who  are  coming  in  later  years.  This  evening  I  am 
rejoicing  here,  and  I  feel  just  as  if  you  were  present  with  this 
gentleman,  and  I  feel  just  as  if  I  were  about  to  talk  with  you." 


56  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

We  may  pass  on  now  to  some  events  in  the  life  of  Umapine. 
Again  he  must  speak  for  himself:  "When  I  grew  old  enough 
to  know  something,  I  saw  my  folks  digging  potatoes  and 
onions,  and  gathering  corn;  these  they  got  from  the  white 
people  the  summer  before.  The  Indians  used  to  plant  these 
every  year,  and  when  the  emigrants  went  through  and  asked 
for  a  little  my  folks  used  to  give  them  all  they  could  spare. 
There  came  a  time  when  the  Indians  and  the  \vhite  people 
had  a  war.  I  did  not  feel  like  interfering  or  trying  to  make 
any  trouble,  so  I  did  not  go  to  the  war  at  that  time.  Some 
years  after  that  the  Indians  had  a  fight  among  themselves, 
and  I  participated  in  that  war.  The  Sioux  Indians  used  to 
ride  all  over  this  country,  and  they  stole  horses  from  my 
tribe.  When  my  people  learned  that  their  horses  were  stolen, 
they  started  on  the  warpath.  We  overtook  the  Sioux  with 
the  horses  along  about  3  P.  M.  as  near  as  I  can  remember; 
we  did  not  have  watches  in  those  days,  and  I  think  it  was 
about  that  time.  We  killed  four  of  the  Sioux  Indians  and 
recovered  our  horses,  the  Sioux  only  killing  one  Nez  Perce 
who  was  with  us.  I  remember  another  war  that  happened 
not  very  long  ago.  These  were  Indians  from  the  southern 
part  of  Oregon.  They  were  on  the  warpath  and  had  started 
up  north  and  killed  many  sheep  herders  and  farmers,  and 
killed  their  children  and  destroyed  their  houses  —  burned 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  57 

them  up.  They  came  to  our  country  and  began  to  burn  up 
the  houses  of  the  white  farmers.  These  Indians  came  into 
our  agency.  Major  Conyer,  Uncle  Sam's  man,  was  agent 
at  that  time.  I  think  he  died  last  April.  The  Indians  then 
met  Uncle  Sam's  men  about  a  mile  and  a  half  south  of  the 
agency,  and  we  Indians  were  watching  to  see  if  the  soldiers 
wrould  be  driven  back  by  these  Indians;  we  were  ready  to 
help  Uncle  Sam's  men.  The  hostile  Indians  headed  down 
to  our  camp,  and  when  we  saw  them  coming  toward  our  camp 
we  at  once  knew  that  they  wanted  us  to  get  into  the  mixup 
so  that  we  would  be  on  the  warpath  as  well  as  themselves, 
but  all  of  our  men  got  their  weapons  and  we  met  these  Ban 
nock  Indians  and  chased  them  back  to  the  hills.  At  that 
? 

time  there  were  a  few  cavalrymen  and  the  rest  was  infantry. 
All  the  Indians  were  on  horseback,  and  the  infantry  could 
not  very  well  keep  up.  We  took  after  these  Indians,  but 
did  not  kill  many  of  them,  as  most  of  them  had  a  good  start. 
The  same  evening  we  were  requested  to  go  with  Uncle  Sam's 
men  that  we  might  overtake  these  Indians  and  capture  them 
if  possible.  The  next  morning  we  found  that  we  were  in 
advance  of  the  enemy,  and  just  as  the  sun  rose  two  Indians 
on  horseback  came  direct  to  where  we  were.  We  immediately 
got  our  arms  ready  and  met  these  two  Indians;  one  of  them  got 
so  excited  that  he  jumped  off  his  horse  and  started  to  run 


58  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

for  the  timber,  leaving  his  horse  behind  him.  As  he  took 
to  the  thick  brush  we  fired  at  him.  I  had  a  fast  horse  and 
was  close  behind  him.  I  jumped  off  my  horse  and  ran  after 
him  on  foot.  I  found  him  lying  wounded,  and  watched  him  a 
little  while  and  he  died.  He  had  a  very  nice  belt  which  I 
took  and  put  around  my  waist.  Meanwhile  the  rest  of  the 
people  had  the  other  Indian  captured;  he  had  been  also 
wounded.  Later  on  we  saw  a  band  of  these  Indians  coming 
up  direct  to  where  we  were.  They  had  their  pack  animals 
with  them.  We  took  after  them  and  tried  to  capture  every 
one  of  them,  but  they  had  already  seen  us,  and  rode  away  for 
a  canyon,  where  there  was  some  thick  brush.  I  saw  one  old 
woman  —  I  thought  she  was  an  old  woman  —  but  I  was  mis 
taken,  for  when  I  overtook  the  Indian  a  man  jumped  off 
his  horse  and  got  behind  a  tree.  When  I  saw  my  mistake, 
it  was  too  late  to  stop  my  horse.  I  was  but  a  few  feet  away 
from  him  at  that  time.  He  shot  at  me  once  and  missed  me. 
I  was  lucky  that  time  or  I  would  not  be  telling  this  story  now, 
if  he  had  been  a  better  shot  than  that.  My  horse  gave  a 
big  jump  just  as  he  fired  at  me  and  I  kept  on  going,  as  I  knew 
there  were  some  more  Indians  close  behind  me  who  would 
capture  the  old  man,  and  I  went  on  after  the  rest  of  the  Indians. 
Just  as  I  came  to  a  little  opening  I  saw  two  Indians  on  horse 
back,  and  one  Indian  lying  down  on  the  ground;  he  was 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  59 

wounded.  When  I  got  there  I  learned  that  this  Indian  was  a 
good  friend  of  ours.  I  just  left  him  there  wounded.  After 
we  left  I  told  the  other  two  Indians:  'This  man  has  been  on 
the  warpath,  and  if  he  had  a  chance  to  kill  us  he  would.' 
So  I  turned  back  and  finished  his  life  and  scalped  him.  My 
tribe  captured  many  of  those  people,  and  I  was  presented  with 
a  fine  animal  that  one  of  the  hostile  Indians  had  been  riding. 
That  was  the  only  time  I  ever  scouted  for  Uncle  Sam.  " 

With  sublime  pathos,  Umapine  referred  to  the  old  days 
of  the  buffalo.  He  said:  "I  have  hunted  buffalo  in  this 
country  many  times.  I  feel  lonesome  since  the  buffalo  have 
been  driven  away.  In  the  old  days  the  Indians  killed  the 
buffalo  with  bows  and  arrows;  they  did  not  have  any  guns  as 
they  have  now,  and  needed  a  fast  horse  to  overtake  these 
animals.  A  man  might  think  they  could  not  run  fast,  but 
he  would  find  out  he  could  not  overtake  them  with  an  ordinary 
horse.  My  people  used  to  hunt  buffalo  in  this  part  of  the 
country,  and  while  on  the  way  over  here  I  could  see  trails 
of  these  large  animals  now  worn  deep  by  the  storms  of  many 
years,  and  I  cried  in  my  heart." 

CHIEF    TIN-TIN-MEET-SA 

It  was  midnight.  A  dim  campfire  accentuated  the  lone 
liness.  Flickering  shadows  wrote  weird  lines  on  the  cone- 


60  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

shaped  walls  of  the  tepee.  The  rain  ceased  not  the  beating 
of  its  soft  tattoo  on  the  frail  roof  above  our  heads.  Old 
Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa,  bent  and  tottering  with  his  more  than 
eighty  years  of  life,  his  noble  old  face  still  wearing  great 
dignity,  his  almost  sightless  eyes  looking  for  the  last  flicker 
of  life's  sunset,  presented  a  pathetic  picture  as  he  faced  the 
firelight  and  told  of  his  loneliness  as  he  passed  the  deserted 
buffalo  trails. 

Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa,  or  Willouskin,  is  one  of  the  notable 
chiefs  of  the  Umatillas.  He  rendered  valuable  services  to 
the  Government  as  a  scout  during  the  Indian  wars  of  1855 
and  1856.  The  heroic  deeds  of  those  faraway  days  have 
not  been  written  down  in  history,  and  no  doubt  will  be  for 
gotten  by  future  generations,  but  they  have  been  written 
large  on  the  character  lines  of  this  gigantic  frame  and  Sa 
vonarola-like  face  —  a  poet,  a  dreamer,  a  warrior,  and 
chieftain. 

It  is  better  to  let  Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa  open  the  door  himself 
upon  that  mighty  past:  "My  days  have  been  spent  for 
many  suns  along  the  great  rivers  and  high  mountains  of 
Oregon.  It  has  been  many  years  ago  that  I  was  selected  by 
our  agent  as  the  head  man  of  my  tribe.  In  those  days  I  was 
a  very  active  man,  but  since  I  have  become  so  old,  although 
they  look  upon  me  as  the  head  man  of  the  tribe,  I  must 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  61 

leave  the  work  for  others  to  do.  During  my  younger  days  I 
had  a  big  herd  of  cattle  and  horses,  but  as  the  years  have  come 
over  me,  I  am  not  able  to  look  after  my  stock  any  more.  I 
consider  the  greatest  event  in  my  life  the  assistance  I  ren 
dered  in  the  capture  and  killing  of  Chief  Eagan,  war  chief  of 
the  Piutes,  during  the  Bannock  or  Sheep-Eater  war.  These 
Bannock  Indians  created  great  destruction  wherever  they 
went;  they  burned  my  tepee  and  killed  over  seventy  head  of 
my  cattle.  I  did  not  know  at  that  time  how  many  cattle  I 
had,  because  there  was  not  any  one  around  to  steal  them. 
This  led  me  to  go  on  the  warpath  against  the  Bannocks. 

"This country  all  looks  familiar  to  mebecause,  in  my  younger 
days,  I  travelled  all  over  these  prairies  fighting  the  Sioux 
Indians  who  had  stolen  horses  from  my  tribe.  Again  I 
have  travelled  all  over  this  country  many  times,  long  years 
ago,  as  we  came  here  to  hunt  the  buffalo.  I  had  a  number 
of  fast  horses,  with  which  I  could  easily  kill  as  many  buffalo 
as  I  wanted,  but  I  only  killed  as  many  as  I  needed  to  last 
for  a  few  days.  When  I  came  here  the  other  day  to  meet 
all  these  chiefs,  and  I  looked  at  this  country  for  the  last  time, 
I  felt  lonesome  when  I  saw  how  it  was  all  changed,  and  all 
of  the  buffalo  gone  out  of  the  country,  for  I  could  still  see 
traces  of  these  large  animals.  It  is  easy  for  an  old  hunter 
to  discover  these  buffalo  trails,  for  they  all  walked  in  the 


62  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

same  place,  and  now  the  rains  of  many  moons  have  cut 
those  trails  deep,  just  as  if  a  man  had  been  irrigating  some 
field.  I  can  scarcely  see,  but  my  eyes  could  find  the  old  trail. 
The  buffalo  has  gone,  and  I  am  soon  going." 

CHIEF  RUNS-THE-ENEMY 

Imagine  a  Roman  warrior  with  clear-cut  visage  and  flashing 
eye,  his  face  written  all  over  with  battle  lines,  his  voice  run 
ning  the  entire  gamut  from  rage  to  mirth,  and  you  have  a 
mental  picture  of  Chief  Runs-the-Enemy,  a  tall,  wiry  Teton 
Sioux  whose  more  than  sixty-four  years  of  life  have  crossed 
many  a  battlefield  and  won  many  a  triumph.  From  boy 
hood  days  a  ringing  challenge  to  battle  seemed  ever  vibrant 
in  the  air  he  breathed.  When  I  asked  him  to  let  me  drink 
at  some  of  the  secret  springs  of  his  life  his  very  first  sentence 
contained  the  ring  of  battle! 

"The  first  thing  that  I  remember  is  that  my  father  made 
me  a  bow  and  arrow;  it  was  a  small  bow  and  arrow,  and  made 
in  proportion  to  my  size,  compared  with  the  bows  and  arrows 
used  in  killing  buffalo.  I  had  seen  the  buffalo  meat  that  they 
brought  in  and  the  wild  game.  My  father  taught  me  how 
to  use  the  bow  and  arrow,  and  also  how  to  ride  a  horse,  and 
soon  it  became  natural  for  me  to  ride.  I  soon  grew  to  be 
able  to  use  the  bow  and  arrow  that  my  father  used;  with  it 


O 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  63 

I  killed  buffalo.  My  father  also  taught  me  how  to  skin  the 
buffalo,  so  that  when  I  killed  the  buffalo  I  knew  how  to  skin 
it  and  bring  the  buffalo  meat  home.  My  father  taught  me 
to  pity  the  old  men  and  women,  and  when  I  went  on  the  war 
path  to  be  brave,  and  even  try  to  die  on  the  field.  My  father 
also  taught  me  that  it  was  better  to  go  on  the  field  of  battle 
and  have  my  body  filled  with  arrows  from  the  enemy  and 
die  on  the  field,  and  let  the  wolves  come  and  eat  up  my  flesh 
and  bones,  rather  than  be  wrapped  up  and  buried  in  some 
high  tree,  and  in  this  spirit  I  went  forth  into  all  my  fights. 
I  remember  when  I  was  very  young  I  went  on  the  warpath 
and  carried  the  bundles  of  moccasins  and  provisions  for  the 
war  party.  When  I  was  fifteen  years  old  I  went  with  my 
first  war  party.  The  snow  was  very  deep  and  hard,  so  that 
the  horses  slipped  round.  We  charged  upon  the  Assinaboines. 
I  remember  when  we  charged  the  camp  we  found  one 
Indian  down  in  the  creek  trapping  foxes.  We  did  not 
know  he  was  there.  As  soon  as  he  saw  us  he  ran  toward  his 
own  camp,  and  I  whipped  up  my  horse  and  ran  after  him. 
The  enemy  came  out  with  guns  and  bows  and  arrows.  I 
ran  the  man  clear  into  the  midst  of  the  smoke;  I  came  back 
without  even  myself  or  my  horse  getting  hurt.  That 
is  how  I  got  my  name,  Runs-the-Enemy.  I  was  then  at  the 
age  of  fifteen.  When  we  got  back  to  camp  the  Sioux  people 


64  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

said  I  did  not  know  what  I  was  doing,  and  I  replied  that  I 
knew  that  was  what  my  father  had  taught  me.  I  performed 
this  deed  in  the  face  of  a  lot  of  brave  warriors,  and  this  is 
how  my  name  is  great  among  the  Sioux.  There  was  a  life 
long  enmity  between  the  Sioux  and  the  Assinaboines.  My 
father  was  wounded  by  the  Assinaboines,  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  I  was  going  to  do  something  to  that  tribe.  I  have  been 
in  about  forty  battles  altogether,  rather  insignificant  some 
of  them,  but  about  ten  great  battles.  When  I  was  about 
eighteen,  a  band  of  Sioux,  including  myself,  went  down  to 
the  Black  Rees.  They  greatly  outnumbered  us.  We  at 
tacked  them,  but  did  not  kill  any  of  them.  They  pursued 
us  a  long  way,  killing  five  of  our  number.  My  horse  was  hit 
with  an  arrow,  and  I  jumped  off,  and  while  I  was  running  I 
was  shot  through  the  ankle  with  an  arrow.  The  enemy 
surrounded  me;  my  own  friends  had  gone  on.  I  crossed  my 
wounded  ankle  over  the  other  foot  and  defended  myself  as 
best  I  could.  I  looked  at  the  ground  and  the  sky,  and  made 
up  my  mind  that  this  was  my  last  day.  Just  at  this  moment, 
while  I  was  surrounded  by  my  enemies,  one  of  my  friends  was 
brave  enough  to  come  back;  he  rode  into  the  midst  of  our 
foes  and  put  me  on  the  back  of  his  horse,  and  we  rode  away 
in  safety.  Let  me  tell  you  about  the  other  wound  that  I 
received.  In  one  of  the  late  battles  that  we  had  with  the 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  65 

tribe  of  Black  Rees,  in  1874,  I  was  shot  through  the  thigh,  a 
ball  also  going  through  the  forearm,  and  breaking  the  bone. 

"Let  me  tell  you  about  my  connection  with  the  battle  of 
the  Little  Rosebud.  With  my  war  party  I  joined  the 
Sioux  camp  on  the  Rosebud  River.  We  camped  first  at 
Lame  Deer.  When  I  arrived  at  the  Sioux  camp  at  Lame 
Deer  we  were  near  the  Cheyenne  camp,  and  the  Cheyennes 
had  built  a  big  bonfire.  They  were  singing  and  dancing  around 
the  fire.  I  was  told  that  there  were  some  Cheyennes  that  had 
reached  camp  that  day  or  the  day  before  from  the  Black  Hills, 
and  they  brought  the  news  that  the  soldiers  were  coming.  The 
reason  for  the  campfire  and  the  dancing  was  to  pick  out  the 
bravest  of  the  Cheyennes  and  send  them  back  to  find  out  the 
location  of  the  troops  and  bring  back  word.  The  campfire 
was  so  big  and  so  bright  and  the  dancing  and  shooting  so 
boisterous  that  I  went  over  to  the  Cheyenne  camp  to  see 
for  myself.  And  I  saw  them  choosing  the  braves  for  this 
scouting  duty.  The  scouts  must  have  numbered  ten.  They 
started  right  off  on  their  mission.  The  next  morning  we 
broke  camp  and  came  over  the  hills.  WTe  camped  about 
half  a  day's  journey  from  the  Custer  battlefield.  That 
night,  after  we  camped,  there  was  no  news,  and  I  went  to 
bed  and  went  to  sleep.  The  next  morning  I  was  awakened 
by  firing,  and  the  report  came  to  me  that  there  was  going  to 


66  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

be  trouble,  for  the  troops  were  coming.  Almost  at  once  every 
body  who  could  ride  a  horse  or  hold  a  gun  mounted  his  horse 
and  rode  away  to  meet  the  troops.  The  Cheyenne  scouts  led 
the  way.  It  was  not  very  long  until  I  heard  the  report  of 
rifles,  over  in  the  gully.  After  the  report  of  the  guns  we 
heard  a  cry  from  the  hilltop;  an  Indian  was  on  the  hill 
crying  as  hard  as  he  could,  telling  us  to  make  the  charge  at 
once.  Then  one  of  their  number  was  killed  outright.  The 
occasion  of  the  shots  was  that  four  or  five  of  our  Sioux  had  gone 
around  us  and  had  gone  into  the  soldiers'  camp  and  stolen 
some  horses,  and  the  soldiers  were  firing  at  the  horse-thieves; 
four  of  them  escaped,  one  being  killed.  This  was  the  scream 
ing  we  heard.  We  no  sooner  heard  it  than  we  made  a  dash. 
I  cannot  tell  you  the  number  of  our  Indians.  There  were  the 
different  bands  of  the  Sioux,  and  the  entire  tribe  of  the  Chey- 
ennes.  The  charge  we  made  was  enough  to  scare  anybody. 
As  we  got  on  top  of  the  hill  the  soldiers,  who  were  already 
after  the  horse-thieves,  knowing  that  we  outnumbered  them, 
all  fled  back.  The  cavalry  supported  by  a  file  of  infantry 
stopped,  and  we  also  stopped  and  had  a  great  battle  there. 
We  simply  circled  them,  and  did  not  give  them  a  chance  to 
charge,  as  we  greatly  outnumbered  them.  We  killed  a 
great  many  soldiers,  shot  down  a  good  many  of  their  horses, 
for  there  were  lots  of  them  lying  on  the  ground,  wounded  and 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  67 

dead.  This  battle  the  Indians  called  the  Battle  of  the  Wolf 
Mountains,  known  to  the  soldiers  and  the  Crows  by  this 
name,  and  to  the  Sioux  as  the  Battle  of  the  Head  of  the 
Rosebud.  The  general  sentiment  was  that  we  were  victorious 
in  that  battle,  for  the  soldiers  did  not  come  upon  us,  but 
retreated  back  into  Wyoming.  We  understood  that  General 
Crook  was  in  command  of  the  United  States  troops,  led  by 
Crow  scouts.  They  called  General  Crook,  'Three  Stars.' 
When  our  Indians  made  the  charge  upon  the  United  States 
troops  we  found  the  Crow  scouts  standing  between  us  and 
the  troops.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  Crow  scouts  we  would 
have  charged  right  through  to  the  soldiers.  The  Crow 
scouts  were  in  between  us,  and  received  the  fire  from  both 
sides.  After  the  battle  ended  and  the  soldiers  returned, 
we  got  home  to  our  camp  without  any  fear.  We  spent 
the  whole  of  the  next  day  in  camp  at  the  Little  Rosebud, 
and  the  day  after  we  came  over  on  to  the  plains  by  the  Cus- 
ter  Battlefield." 

The  most  graphic  Indian  story  of  the  Custer  fight  is  told 
by  Runs-the-Enemy  in  the  chapter  on  "The  Indians'  Story 
of  the  Custer  Fight."  Chief  Runs-the-Enemy  continued: 

"A  great  event  in  changing  my  life  was  marked  when  I 
returned  to  the  reservation  and  the  Government  took  from  us 
our  horses  and  guns  and  told  us  that  we  were  to  live  in  that 


68  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

place  at  peace  with  everybody.  The  Government  took  the 
best  warriors  from  among  the  tribe,  made  them  lift  their  hands 
to  God  and  swear  that  they  would  be  true  to  the  Government; 
and  they  made  out  of  these  men  policemen  who  were  to  guard 
the  Government  and  keep  the  Indians  good.  When  the 
Government  made  a  policeman  of  me  they  bound  my  hands 
with  chains  and  I  had  to  obey  them.  They  gave  me  imple 
ments  with  which  to  till  the  soil,  and  raise  stock  and  build 
a  home,  and  it  seemed  to  me  I  must  obey  every  word  they 
said.  They  told  me  that  the  wild  game,  now  roaming  the 
hills,  would  soon  die  off,  and  that  if  I  tilled  the  soil  and  raised 
stock  and  grain,  I  could  get  money  for  it,  and  money  is  what 
makes  everything  move  along.  As  I  told  you,  whatever 
they  told  me,  I  did.  They  told  me  to  send  my  children  to 
school,  which  I  did.  I  sent  all  of  my  children  to  school,  and 
they  came  home  and  all  of  them  died.  They  told  me  if  I 
sent  the  children  to  school  and  educated  them,  they  would  be 
all  right.  Instead  of  that  I  sent  them  to  school  and  they  all 
came  home  with  consumption  and  died,  seven  in  number. 
If  I  had  kept  them  home,  some  of  them  might  have  been 
living  to-day.  Now  as  to  myself:  I  am  getting  old  every  day; 
I  cannot  take  care  of  my  stock.  My  limbs  are  weak,  and 
my  knees  are  getting  weak;  it  will  not  be  long  until  I  will  go 
under  the  ground.  As  you  look  at  me  now  I  am  old.  As 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  69 

I  said,  I  will  die  in  a  little  while,  but  I  am  not  afraid  of  dying. 
I  have  two  children  living  and  I  look  ahead  for  them.  Al 
though  I  have  done  all  I  could  for  my  people,  I  have  also 
helped  the  Government  and  done  whatever  they  told  me  to 
do." 

We  have  been  listening  to  the  minor  in  the  carol,  that  is 
always  the  major  strain  in  Indian  life,  but  we  mistake 
much  if  we  do  not  hear  more  jubilant  notes  in  the  scale. 
When  Runs-the-Enemy  was  asked  to  tell  the  story  of  his 
boyhood  days  all  the  fierce  combativeness  expressed  in 
gesture,  voice,  and  piercing  eye  gave  way  to  a  tender  and 
gentle  calm.  The  warrior  became  a  child,  living  again  the 
life  of  a  child  with  all  the  spontaneous  gleefulness  of  a  child. 
We  may  now  have  one  of  his  folklore  tales. 

FOLKLORE   TALE 

There  goes  a  spider.  As  he  was  journeying  along  he  came 
upon  a  man --in  our  legends  these  men  do  anything;  they 
take  a  whole  community  of  men  right  down  —  and  he  met 
him  face  to  face.  The  man-eater  stood  in  the  path,  the 
spider  in  front  of  him.  The  big  man  kept  letting  out  his 
breath  and  taking  it  in  in  great  gusts,  and  when  he  drew  in 
his  breath  he  drew  the  spider  toward  him,  and  when  he  blew 
out  his  breath  he  blew  him  away  from  him.  And  the  spider 


70  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

was  so  scared  he  did  not  know  what  to  do.  But  he  finally 
said:  "Now,  my  young  brother,  you  take  in  your  breath, 
and  let  out  your  breath,  and  you  pull  me  around;  and  if  I 
did  the  same  thing  you  would  soon  be  gone,  for  I  am  older  than 
you  are."  The  big  man  said  to  the  spider:  "Now,  my 
older  brother,  you  hold  on."  The  spider  said  to  the  big  man: 
"I  am  going  over  here  where  there  is  a  great  big  camp  of 
people,  and  I  am  going  to  swallow  all  of  these  people.  How 
ever,  as  you  are  hungry,  I  will  give  you  half  of  them.  Now 
you  stay  right  here.  I  am  going  over  to  look  at  the  big  camp. 
I  am  going  to  find  out  whether  I  will  give  you  any  of  them  or 
not,  and  then  I  will  tell  you."  With  these  words  the  spider 
went  ahead  of  the  man  a  little,  and  then  came  right  back  to 
the  big  man  again  and  said:  "My  young  brother,  I  am 
afraid  of  some  certain  things,  and  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about 
it.  Are  you  the  same  way?"  The  big  man  said:  "Yes, 
my  little  brother,  I  am  very  much  afraid  of  some  things." 
The  spider  then  asked  him:  "What  are  the  things  you  are 
afraid  of?"  The  big  man  then  told  the  spider  that  he  was 
afraid  of  drums  beating,  that  he  was  afraid  of  old  tambourines 
that  the  Indians  used  to  have,  and  he  was  also  afraid  of 
shouting  and  yelling.  The  spider  then  said  to  him:  'You 
are  my  brother  for  sure;  these  are  just  the  things  that  I  am 
afraid  of."  Just  as  he  said  these  things  to  the  big  man,  the 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  71 

spider  was  very  much  afraid  of  him,  fearing  that  he  could  not 
hold  himself  steady  as  he  stood  in  front  of  the  big  man.  The 
spider  said  to  the  big  man:  :'You  just  sit  right  still  here.  I 
am  going  over  to  see  this  big  camp,  and  will  be  right  back." 
The  spider  went  over  the  hill  as  fast  as  he  could,  looking 
back  every  once  in  a  while  to  the  big  man.  He  went  right 
ahead  into  the  big  camp.  He  told  everybody  around  there 
to  get  all  their  drums  and  their  tambourines,  that  he  had  a 
great  big  man  over  there,  and  these  were  the  things  that  he 
was  afraid  of.  "I  am  going  back  to  him  and  I  want  you  to 
take  all  your  drums  and  tambourines,  and  yell  and  scream, 
for  he  is  afraid  of  these  things."  The  spider  then  went  back 
to  the  big  man  and  told  him  the  camp  was  big  enough  for 
them  both.  Then  he  marked  a  place  which  divided  them  half 
and  half,  and  said:  "You  are  to  have  the  one  half  and  I  am 
to  have  the  other  half;  but  if  you  go  ahead  and  eat  your  half 
and  eat  half  of  my  half,  I  will  swallow  you  too."  As  they 
went  along  to  the  camp  the  spider  said  to  the  big  man:  "I 
am  the  older,  and  will  go  ahead  of  you  a  little."  In  the  mean 
time  he  had  told  those  in  camp  that  they  must  all  gather  in 
one  place  where  he  would  lead  this  big  man.  As  the  big  man 
walked  along,  he  grew  tired,  and  would  let  out  his  breath 
and  take  in  a  great  big  breath,  and  every  time  the  spider  would 
be  drawn  up  against  him.  The  spider  told  him  if  he  did  it 


72  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

again  he  would  draw  in  his  breath  and  the  big  man  would 
soon  be  inside  his  stomach.  As  the  spider  went  on  into  the 
place  where  all  the  people  were  gathered,  they  began  to  beat 
their  drums  and  yell  and  scream  and  howl.  The  spider  fell 
down  as  though  he  were  dead,  and  kicked  and  squirmed. 
The  big  man  was  really  scared,  and  he  fell  down  dead.  When 
they  got  up  to  the  big  man  and  found  him  dead,  the  spider 
told  them  how  he  had  worked  the  big  man,  and  saved  their 
lives.  And  thus  the  story  ends. 

^X" 

CHIEF  PRETTY  VOICE  EAGLE 

Sixty-eight  years  is  a  long  time  to  be  an  Indian.  Within 
this  span  of  life  Pretty  Voice  Eagle  has  run  with  swift  feet 
the  warpath,  and  held  with  strong  hand  the  battle  spear. 
Bearing  well  his  weight  of  years  and  his  heavier  burden  of 
struggle,  he  moves  erect  and  with  lithe  footstep.  He  be 
came  stormy  and  vociferous  as  he  told  his  story  of  broken 
treaties,  how  the  Indian  had  been  wronged  by  the  white 
man,  and  how  his  life  had  been  scarred  by  the  storms  of  life. 
Then  the  calm  of  old  age  came  over  him  and  the  placid  joy  of 
childhood  memories  when  asked  to  tell  a  folklore  tale. 
While  relating  his  battle  experiences  we  had  the  equinoctial 
gale  of  Indian  life  and  then  the  mellow  haze  of  Indian  summer. 
Recalling  his  boyhood  days,  Pretty  Voice  Eagle  told  me  that 


c 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  73 

his  tribe  roamed  along  the  river,  chiefly  the  Missouri  River. 
There  were  then  no  white  people  in  that  country.  "I  was 
about  ten  years  old  when  I  saw  large  boats  bringing  white 
people  over  the  Missouri  River.  I  saw  a  great  many  of 
the  white  people  killed  by  the  Sioux  when  they  came  up  the 
river  in  small  boats.  It  was  not  until  I  was  about  twenty 
years  old  that  they  began  to  build  the  railroad  along  the 
Platte  River  going  west,  and  there  were  also  emigrant  wagons 
going  west  driving  large  herds  of  cattle.  The  Indians  killed 
the  white  people  as  they  came  up  the  river  because  we  felt 
they  were  driving  away  our  game;  they  had  guns  and  powder 
and  knives,  which  we  did  not  have.  We  also  wanted  what 
they  had  in  the  boats,  and  we  did  not  like  to  see  them  go 
through  our  country.  When  I  first  saw  the  people  emigrating 
through  our  country  and  then  bringing  iron  horses  there  I 
began  to  be  afraid.  I  was  about  twenty-five  or  thirty  years 
old  when  they  began  to  run  the  iron  horse  along  through 
the  country,  and  I  also  heard  that  they  were  going  to  move 
the  Indians  to  some  hot  country,  and  that  the  white  people 
would  fill  up  all  the  land  north  and  west  and  south  of  us;  we 
felt  that  we  ought  to  fight  the  white  people,  and  we  began  to 
kill  the  men  who  were  building  the  railroad.  The  white 
people  began  to  kill  the  game  when  they  came  into  the  coun 
try.  There  was  then  plenty  of  buffalo  on  the  east  side  of  the 


74  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

Missouri  River;  soon  they  swam  over  to  the  west  side,  and 
we  then  understood  that  the  President  had  given  them  the 
privilege  of  killing  all  the  game,  and  soon  the  buffalo  were  all 
gone.     The  white  man  then  went  into  the  Black  Hills,  and 
killed  the  game.     The  killing  of  the  game  caused  a  change  in 
our  food.     We  were  accustomed  to  eating  buffalo  meat  and 
other  wild  game;  we  loved  that  and  we  were  all  full  of  health 
as  long  as  we  had  it.     The  change  of  food  has  compelled  us 
to  eat  bread  instead  of  wild  meat,  and  that  is  the  reason  why 
the  Indians  are  all  dying  off.     When  I  think  of  those  old 
days  my  heart  is  full  of  sorrow.     My  father,  who  was  then 
the  chief,  was  sent  for  by  the  President  of  the  United  States, 
and  when  he  came  back  he  said  that  the  Indians  must  adopt 
the  white  man's  mode  of  living,  and  that  we  must  send  our 
children  to  school.     The  news  that  my  father  brought  was 
received  by  some  with  favour,   others  entirely  refused   to 
send  their  children  to  school,  and  said  that  they  would  rather 
fight  than  let  their  children  go  to  school.     And  it  looked  as 
though  there  would  be  a  general  uprising.     I  remember  the 
first  group  who  went  off  to  school,  and  it  caused  great  trouble. 
From  that  time  on  we  had  trouble  with  the  United  States 
soldiers.     While   we  were  carrying  this  trouble  about  the 
schools  in  our  minds,  there  was  an  emigrant  train  going  through 
the  Black  Hills.     They  had  with  them  a  cow  which  was 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  75 

lame,  and  and  they  left  it.  The  Indians  thought  they  had 
thrown  it  away,  and  killed  it.  We  killed  this  cow  not  for 
subsistence  but  because  it  was  lame  and  we  felt  sorry  for  it. 
It  was  not  until  a  year  later  that  the  people  who  owned  this 
cow  made  application  to  the  Government  for  reimburse 
ment  for  the  loss,  and  the  Government  sent  United  States 
soldiers  there  to  find  out  who  had  killed  the  cow.  The  two 
men  who  had  killed  the  cow  were  Face  Powder  and  Pointed 
Forehead.  They  asked  us  to  give  up  these  men  that  they 
might  take  them  to  Fort  Laramie,  and  we  refused  to  give  them 
up.  They  then  asked  our  head  chief,  Axe-the-Bear,  to  give 
them  up,  and  when  he  would  not  do  so  he  was  taken  to  Fort 
Laramie.  Part  of  the  Sioux  Nation  was  at  Fort  Laramie, 
and  they  wanted  to  know  why  the  soldiers  had  taken  this 
head  chief  there.  It  was  a  mistake  of  the  interpreter,  for  he 
told  the  officers  in  command  that  the  Sioux  Indians  were 
there  to  kill  the  soldiers  if  they  did  not  give  up  this  head 
chief.  One  of  the  soldiers  rather  than  let  the  chief  go  ran 
him  through  with  a  bayonet  and  killed  him  in  cold  blood. 
As  soon  as  they  killed  this  chief,  the  Indians  began  to  fight 
right  there.  There  was  a  running  fight  after  that  until  they 
finally  captured  Spotted-Tail  with  his  band  and  squaws  and 
children.  A  lot  of  Spotted-Tail's  men  were  killed.  They 
afterward  gave  up  the  women  and  children.  That  did  not 


76  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

satisfy  the  Indians;  they  wanted  revenge  on  the  soldiers  and 
had  a  battle  west  of  the  Black  Hills.  After  that  big  battle 
the  Indians  were  chased  right  into  the  territory  where  the 
present  camp  of  the  great  chiefs  is  located.  Following  that 
there  was  another  big  battle  on  the  east  side  of  the  Missouri 
River.  The  women  and  children  were  all  captured.  Fol 
lowing  this  there  was  a  treaty  with  the  United  States  not 
to  fight.  The  treaty  was  signed  up  near  Fort  Laramie. 
The  trouble  still  kept  up,  the  treaty  was  broken,  and  we  had 
another  big  battle  near  the  Rocky  Mountains,  where  a  hundred 
soldiers  were  killed.  After  that  there  were  several  battles, 
including  the  Custer  fight,  and  then  the  bands  all  split 
up,  some  of  them  going  to  Canada  and  some  of  them  back  to 
the  reservations  where  they  are  now  located.  Then  there 
was  a  delegation  sent  to  Washington,  and  when  they  came 
back  to  the  people  from  the  Indian  Department,  we  sent 
our  children  to  school.  The  Indians  who  went  to  Canada 
afterward  returned.  A  great  many  Sioux  remained  on  the 
reservation  at  the  time  of  the  Custer  fight;  I  was  not  in  the 
battle  myself.  I  saw  General  Custer  when  he  left  Fort 
Lincoln  previous  to  the  Custer  fight.  Custer  impressed  me 
as  a  very  pleasant  and  good  man;  he  wore  his  hair  long. 
As  he  was  about  to  leave  Fort  Lincoln  a  delegation  of  Sioux 
Indians,  including  myself,  went  to  see  him  and  asked  him 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  77 

not  to  fight  the  Sioux  Indians,  but  to  go  to  them  in  a  friendly 
way.  I  was  the  leader  of  the  delegation.  We  begged  him 
to  promise  us  that  he  would  not  fight  the  Sioux.  He  promised 
us,  and  we  asked  him  to  raise  his  hand  to  God  that  he  would 
not  fight  the  Sioux,  and  he  raised  his  hand.  After  he  raised 
his  hand  to  God  that  he  would  not  fight  the  Sioux  he  asked 
me  to  go  west  with  my  delegation  to  see  those  roaming  Sioux, 
and  tell  them  to  come  back  to  the  reservation,  that  he  would 
give  them  food,  horses,  and  clothing.  After  we  got  through 
talking,  he  soon  left  the  agency,  and  we  soon  heard  that  he 
was  fighting  the  Indians  and  that  he  and  all  his  men  were 
killed.  If  Custer  had  given  us  time  we  would  have  gone  out 
ahead  of  him,  but  he  did  not  give  us  time.  If  we  had  gone 
out  ahead  of  Custer  he  would  not  have  lost  himself  nor  would 
his  men  have  been  killed.  I  did  all  I  could  to  persuade  the 
Ree  scouts  not  to  go  with  Custer.  I  gave  them  horses  and 
saddles  not  to  go,  but  for  some  reason  they  went. 

"In  the  treaty  the  Government  made  with  me  at  Fort 
Laramie,  they  were  to  feed  me  fifty-five  years,  and  they  have 
not  fulfilled  it.  You  must  be  a  man  of  influence,  as  you 
sent  for  us  from  all  parts  of  the  country,  and  I  wish  you  would 
help  us  as  much  as  you  can.  In  the  Fort  Rice  treaty  the 
Government  promised  to  give  us  good  horses  and  good 
wagons. 


78  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

"After  the  1868  treaty  that  we  had  at  Fort  Rice  we  sold 
all  the  country  east  of  the  Missouri  River  and  soon  sold  the 
Black  Hills  to  the  Government,  and  in  that  treaty  the  Govern 
ment  promised  us  that  the  Sioux  Indians  would  be  taken 
care  of  as  long  as  there  was  a  child  living  of  the  Sioux  tribe; 
and  that  has  not  been  fulfilled.  It  was  not  long  after  that 
when  we  had  a  treaty  with  General  Crook.  In  that  treaty 
we  were  promised  a  great  many  things  the  Government  did 
not  seem  to  care  to  do.  Now  our  funds  are  almost  exhausted, 
and  a  lot  of  us  are  poor  and  not  able  to  take  care  of  ourselves, 
and  I  wish  that  when  you  go  back  you  would  say  what  you 
can.  These  are  Government  promises,  and  they  have  never 
fulfilled  them. 

"The  story  I  am  going  to  tell  you  I  am  not  afraid  to  have 
published  anywhere,  or  to  have  it  come  right  back  to  my  own 
agency,  or  let  other  warriors  see  and  hear  it.  In  my  lifetime 
I  have  made  about  seventy  raids  against  the  different  tribes. 
Out  of  these  raids  there  must  have  been  forty-five  or  fifty 
battles.  Let  me  tell  you  a  story  concerning  one  of  these 
battles  in  which  I  was  engaged :  I  was  a  young  man,  I  cannot 
remember  just  what  age.  The  Sioux  camped  at  the  mouth  of 
the  Rosebud  River.  We  got  up  a  war  party  which  numbered 
about  two  hundred.  The  two  bands  who  were  in  this  party 
were  the  Two-Cattle  and  the  Mnik-Ok-Ju  tribes.  It  was 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  79 

in  the  middle  of  the  winter  when  the  snow  was  deep.  We 
started  across  the  country  not  very  far  from  this  camp,  and 
followed  the  Yellowstone  River  down,  and  then  we  turned  off 
toward  the  north,  and  went  toward  the  Upper  Rockies.  We 
were  then  in  the  enemy's  country.  There  were  four  of  us 
chosen  out  of  the  two  bands  to  go  ahead  and  scout  for  the 
enemy;  we  did  not  see  any  one,  and  returned.  There  was 
one  man  from  our  party  out  shooting  deer,  and  he  was  right 
behind  us.  We  got  home  without  seeing  anything,  but  he 
brought  word  there  were  enemies  in  sight.  The  enemies 
he  saw  were  two  in  number,  and  we  got  on  our  horses  and  went 
to  where  he  saw  these  two  men.  They  were  well  armed  and 
did  all  they  could  to  defend  themselves,  and  our  party  did 
not  come  very  close  to  them.  I  spurred  up  my  horse  and 
made  a  straight  charge  at  the  two  men.  They  were  on  foot, 
and  lined  up  and  pointed  their  guns  at  me  as  I  went  at  them. 
I  struck  one  of  them  with  the  spear  that  I  had.  I  knocked 
him  down;  he  fired  at  me,  but  missed  me.  The  other  man 
also  fired  at  me,  but  missed.  I  could  not  strike  him,  as  I 
dodged  after  I  struck  the  first  man.  As  I  passed  on  by 
them  they  fired  at  me  again.  This  gave  my  warriors  a  chance 
to  come  up  on  them  before  they  could  reload  their  guns, 
and  they  killed  them.  I  was  the  first  one  who  struck  one 
and  very  nearly  hit  the  other.  My  warriors  were  slow  to 


80  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

come  up,  and  I  was  the  first  one  to  charge  them.  After  we 
killed  these  two  men  we  went  home  with  their  scalps.  We 
were  on  our  way  home  across  the  Powder  River  and  following 
the  river  up  until  we  got  to  the  junction  of  the  Powder  and 
Rosebud  rivers.  When  we  got  there  one  of  our  party  went 
on  home  ahead  of  us.  He  came  rushing  toward  us  with  his 
horse  almost  played  out,  with  the  report  that  the  camp  had 
been  attacked  by  the  enemy  while  we  were  away,  and  they 
had  stolen  our  horses,  and  were  now  coming  down  the  road 
on  which  we  were  travelling.  We  hid  waiting  for  them,  but 
somehow  they  became  aware  of  our  presence,  and  went  around, 
and  before  we  knew  it  they  had  escaped.  Although  they  were 
a  great  ways  off  our  band  made  a  charge  on  these  horsemen. 
Most  of  our  horses  gave  out  before  we  overtook  the  enemy, 
but  thirteen  of  us  rode  on,  overtaking  them,  three  in  number 
we  found,  who  had  charge  of  the  stolen  horses.  Our  thirteen 
horses  that  we  were  riding  were  nearly  exhausted,  but  we 
found  that  the  enemy  whom  we  were  pursuing  were  also 
riding  exhausted  horses.  I  rushed  on  ahead  as  fast  as  my 
horse  could  go.  One  of  the  enemy  was  riding  a  horse  that 
was  so  thoroughly  given  out  that  he  stood  still.  The  enemy 
got  off  his  horse,  turned  round,  pulled  his  bow  and  arrow, 
and  shot  at  me;  I  was  going  to  strike  him,  but  I  did  not  have 
time.  The  arrow  was  so  near  my  face  that  it  made  me 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  81 

dizzy.  He  fired  at  me  and  the  arrow  went  right  through  my 
hair,  which  was  tied  in  a  knot  on  top  of  my  head.  I  jumped 
off  my  horse  and  pulled  my  bow  and  arrow,  and  we  were 
firing  at  each  other  as  we  came  closer.  We  jumped  round  like 
jack-rabbits  trying  to  dodge  the  arrows.  One  of  the  arrows 
struck  me  right  across  the  ribs,  but  the  wound  was  not  very 
deep.  Just  as  we  came  together  he  fired  his  last  arrow  at 
me;  it  passed  through  my  arm,  but  it  was  only  a  skin  wound. 
At  that  time  I  struck  him  with  my  arrow  through  the  wrist 
and  that  made  him  lame.  As  I  struck  him  he  moved  backward 
and  I  shot  him  twice  through  the  breast,  with  two  arrows; 
then  I  threw  away  the  arrows  and  struck  him  on  the  head  with 
my  bow,  knocking  him  senseless.  After  I  knocked  him  down 
I  took  his  bow  and  threw  it  a  long  ways  off  so  he  could  not 
get  it.  He  was  crawling  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  I  took 
my  war  club  and  struck  him  until  I  killed  him.  After  I 
had  killed  this  man,  I  gathered  up  my  bow  and  arrows,  and 
went  on  after  the  other  two.  At  this  time  they  had  got  off 
their  horses  and  were  defending  themselves  as  best  they  could. 
I  shot  one  of  them  through  the  wrist  with  my  arrow;  he  made 
a  scream  as  I  hit  him  and  dodged  and  went  down  the  coulee, 
running  as  hard  as  he  could  go.  He  had  a  revolver  in  one 
hand,  and  I  followed  him,  shooting  with  my  arrows,  he  shooting 
back  at  me  with  his  revolver.  This  kept  up  until  he  got  to 


8S  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

the  end  of  the  coulee,  where  there  was  a  deep  precipice.  I 
looked  over  the  precipice  and  saw  this  man,  who  had  jumped 
over,  rolling  down  the  side  like  a  rock.  When  he  got  down 
there  he  was  knocked  senseless.  I  looked  at  him  from  over 
the  hill,  but  could  not  get  down  to  him.  I  walked  back  and 
forth;  as  I  looked  down  I  saw  a  Sioux  Indian  trying  to  crawl 
up  and  get  the  scalp  of  the  Indian  who  had  fallen  down  the 
precipice.  I  had  a  war  club  in  my  teeth,  and  grabbed  my 
bow  and  arrows,  and  tried  to  climb  down  the  hill  slope  in 
order  that  I  might  get  near  him.  As  I  went  down  I  slid, 
and  as  I  was  going  down  the  Crow  regained  consciousness  and 
I  saw  him  pointing  his  gun  at  me  as  I  was  looking  down.  I 
then  thought  that  would  be  my  last  day.  As  I  got  there 
the  Sioux  got  there  just  in  time  to  grab  the  revolver  away 
from  him,  and  as  he  pulled  the  revolver  away  I  fell  right  under 
the  enemy.  He  pulled  a  knife  out  of  my  belt,  for  I  was  under 
him,  pushed  up  against  a  rock,  and  I  could  not  move  either 
way.  He  made  a  strike  at  me  and  cut  my  clothing  right 
across  the  abdomen,  but  did  not  cut  my  stomach.  The 
second  strike  he  made,  I  got  hold  of  the  knife,  and  wrested 
it  from  him.  When  I  had  taken  the  knife,  the  other  Sioux 
pulled  him  off,  and  I  got  up  and  took  my  club  and  finished 
him.  I  killed  these  two  Crows  a  little  ways  from  the  mouth 
of  the  Little  Big  Horn  that  flows  through  the  camp  where 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  83 

we  are  now.     This  is  one  of  the  daring  events  of  my  life. 
These  two  events  occurred  in  one  war  party. 

"Then,  again,  let  me  tell  you  about  the  battle  that  we 
had  between  the  Sioux  and  the  Flatheads  about  twenty  miles 
north  of  where  Billings  now  stands:  In  this  battle  the  Sioux 
numbered  about  one  hundred  and  fifty,  and  the  Flatheads 
consisted  of  the  entire  tribe.  We  sent  three  spies  across 
the  Yellowstone,  and  they  came  back  with  the  location  of  the 
Flatheads.  They  reported  that  the  entire  tribe  was  camped 
there.  We  were  afraid  because  of  their  great  numbers  that 
they  would  beat  us.  We  debated  as  to  whether  we  should 
go  back  home  or  make  the  attack.  Finally  the  chiefs  selected 
thirty  of  the  bravest  men  to  go  on  ahead.  The  rest  of  the 
war  party  remained  in  camp.  I  was  numbered  among  the 
thirty  who  were  chosen  to  go  ahead.  We  left  there  in  the 
dark  of  the  night.  We  journeyed  on  in  silence  until  daybreak, 
when  we  first  got  a  view  of  the  enemy's  camp.  When  day 
light  came  we  found  that  ten  of  our  thirty  had  deserted  from 
fear.  When  we  got  in  sight  of  the  camp  another  ten  left 
us,  so  that  only  left  ten  to  advance  on  the  camp.  We  made 
a  fool  charge  at  the  camp  at  the  rising  of  the  sun.  None  of 
us  expected  to  come  back  when  we  made  the  charge.  After 
we  made  the  charge,  there  were  about  four  who  backed  out 
again,  so  that  left  us  only  six  in  number.  We  ran  our  horses 


84  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

up  to  the  side  of  the  tents  and  then  ran  back  again  to  the 
hills.  The  women  were  just  getting  out  to  get  breakfast 
ready.  We  took  about  fifty  horses  with  us,  as  we  rode  back, 
as  a  challenge  for  the  enemy  to  come  after  us.  The  firing 
began  from  the  camp  and  frightened  the  horses  so  that  we 
only  got  about  twenty  out  of  the  fifty.  There  was  one  horse, 
a  spotted  animal,  that  pleased  me  very  much,  and  out  of 
the  six  of  us  in  number  I  rushed  back  to  get  that  horse. 
When  I  went  back  after  this  horse  the  enemy  came  upon  me  so 
strong  that  I  was  obliged  to  flee  to  the  hills.  They  came  right 
behind  us  firing  at  us.  The  enemy  chased  us  for  miles  and 
miles,  shooting  at  us  but  never  killing  any  of  us.  We  turned 
in  our  saddles  every  once  in  a  while  and  fired  back,  and  then 
went  on.  We  were  reinforced  by  the  last  ten  that  left  us. 
Just  at  this  time  a  horse  under  one  of  our  men  was  shot,  and 
he  was  on  foot  running.  We  made  a  whirl  around  this  man 
who  was  on  foot,  which  seemed  to  check  the  enemy.  At 
this  time  one  of  the  enemy  was  shot  off  his  horse.  This 
man  who  was  shot  from  his  horse  was  surrounded  by  two 
of  his  friends  who  dismounted  to  defend  him.  As  soon  as 
I  saw  this  man  lying  on  his  back,  I  made  a  hard  charge  at 
him;  I  struck  at  his  head.  An  enemy  standing  near  discharged 
his  gun  at  me,  and  took  the  butt  of  the  gun  to  strike  me  on 
the  head.  Just  at  this  moment  my  horse  stumbled  and 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  85 

fell  forward  which  saved  me  from  receiving  the  blow.  As 
I  did  so  I  made  a  circle  and  came  back  again  to  my  own  people. 
But  I  was  mad  at  him  in  my  heart  because  he  had  struck  at  me. 
I  took  my  bow  and  arrow  and  shot  an  arrow  right  througli 
his  cheek.  As  I  hit  this  enemy  through  the  cheek  I  whipped 
up  my  horse  and  made  a  charge  at  him.  One  of  my  friends 
came  riding  up  with  me,  and  we  both  charged  together. 
Our  horses  turned  just  as  we  reached  this  enemy  whom  I  had 
shot  through  the  cheek,  and  the  enemy  ran  right  in  behind  us. 
He  got  hold  of  my  friend's  horse's  tail  and  shot  him  through 
the  back  with  his  revolver  and  he  fell  right  over  my  horse. 
I  got  off  my  horse,  holding  my  friend  tight,  and  one  of  my 
friends  saw  the  enemy  at  this  time  and  shot  him.  This 
man  who  had  been  shot  by  my  friend  got  up  again  as  his 
wound  was  only  a  skin  wound.  I  let  go  of  my  dead  friend 
and  got  off  my  horse  and  charged  at  this  fellow.  Just  as  I 
charged  at  him  there  were  two  angry  Sioux  who  laid  their 
coup  sticks  on  him.  They  went  on  by  him  and  that  left 
him  for  me  to  fight.  Just  as  I  reached  him  the  enemy  was 
very  close  behind  me.  They  had  shot  at  me  at  very  close 
range.  I  could  smell  the  smoke.  He  aimed  his  gun  right 
at  me,  but  he  was  so  bewildered  that  he  did  not  fire.  I 
took  the  gun  away  from  him  and  knocked  him  down.  I 
got  on  my  horse,  taking  his  gun  with  me,  at  which  time  my 


86  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

horse  was  shot  across  the  nose,  but  he  kept  on  going  toward 
my  friends.  The  bullets  whizzed  around  me,  bewildering 
me  for  a  moment.  At  this  time  it  seemed  as  though  the 
enemy  were  defeated,  but  the  rest  of  our  band  came  up  at 
this  moment.  The  enemy  retreated  when  they  saw  our 
friends,  but  they  pursued  us  all  the  way  back  to  the  Yellow 
stone.  The  dead  numbered  about  a  hundred  in  this  battle. 
I  did  not  go  back,  because  my  horse  was  exhausted.  I  have 
five  more  just  such  thrilling  stories,  including  the  one  in 
which  I  was  wounded. 

"The  greatest  event  in  my  life,  leaving  behind  the  story 
that  I  have  told,  is  to  be  found  at  the  time  the  Indians  re 
ceived  allotments  of  land,  and  were  given  a  home  so  they 
could  not  roam  around;  and  above  all,  the  time  when  I  found 
religion  and  became  a  Christian.  I  was  baptized  and  con 
firmed  in  the  Episcopal  Church.  I  married  my  wife  under 
the  holy  bonds  of  matrimony,  and  am  trying  to  live  an 
upright  life.  In  the  roaming  life,  I  fought,  I  took  many 
scalps,  and  killed  many  Indians.  Now,  put  alongside  of 
that  the  fact  that  I  live  in  my  own  home,  own  my  land,  have 
my  own  family,  and  am  a  church  member.  I  like  the  last 
life  better  than  the  first.  In  the  former  life  while  we  lived 
to  ourselves,  we  were  always  fighting;  in  the  life  now  we  have 
peace.  The  one  thing  now  that  is  killing  me  off  is  our  mode 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  87 

of  life.  There  is  too  much  confinement;  instead  of  fighting 
the  enemy,  I  am  fighting  disease.  The  white  people  know 
about  everything,  but  if  they  can  kill  that  foul  disease,  con 
sumption,  I  shall  feel  very  thankful.  As  I  told  you  before, 
I  think  of  the  buffalo  time,  the  meat,  and  the  hides,  and  the 
desire  for  it  seems  almost  like  a  disease,  and  this  is  especially 
true  with  the  old  men." 

When  asked  about  his  belief  concerning  the  Indian's 
hereafter,  before  he  became  a  Christian,  he  replied:  "There 
was  no  definite  Supreme  Being  that  we  believed  in.  There 
were  a  great  many  gods  that  we  had  faith  in.  I  prayed  to  my 
own  god;  then  we  all  heard  that  after  we  died  we  would  meet 
in  some  good  country  where  we  would  all  be  happy.  No 
matter  if  we  had  lots  of  gods,  we  would  all  meet  in  that 
country.  Now,  while  I  cannot  read  the  Bible,  nor  can  I  under 
stand  the  Bible,  yet  we  have  preachers  in  our  own  language 
and  they  tell  us  that  there  is  one  God,  and  also  His  Holy  Son, 
and  we  shall  all  meet  in  heaven,  and  I  believe  in  that.  A 
great  many  of  the  Sioux  are  followers  like  I  am,  but  like  a 
great  many  other  people,  there  are  many  who  do  one  thing 
and  feel  another.  In  the  old  days  the  sun  was  my  god,  the 
sun  was  my  father's  god,  and  I  then  thought  the  sun  was  my 
father  and  the  earth  was  my  mother.  I  sang  and  danced  to 
the  sun;  I  have  my  breast  and  arms  tattooed  with  the  sun, 


88  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

and  I  pierced  my  body  through  offering  sacrifices  to  the  sun. 
Now  I  look  back  upon  those  old  Indian  customs  as  foolish 
ness.  It  is  like  a  man  coming  out  of  darkness  into  light.  I 
was  then  in  the  dark;  I  am  now  going  into  the  valley  of 
light,  learning  every  day." 

FOLKLORE  TALES  —  SIOUX 

Pretty  Voice  Eagle  reached  the  other  pole  of  life  when  his 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  time  when  the  old  folks  gathered 
around  the  campfire,  and  as  a  small  lad  he  listened  to  their 
oft-repeated  stories.  "I  can  hardly  remember  them,  but  I 
will  tell  you  a  short  story:  ) There  was  a  great  big  spider 
carrying  a  big  roll  of  straw  on  his  back,  and  he  was  running 
along  between  two  lakes.  There  was  a  great  big  flock  of 
geese  on  one  of  the  lakes.  One  of  the  geese  yelled  over  to  the 
spider:  'Spider,  where  are  you  going?'  The  spider  said: 
'You  hush  up  now!  I  have  heard  there  is  a  camp  of  Indians 
over  here  who  have  returned  from  a  victory  with  many  scalps, 
and  they  sent  for  me  with  my  songs.  I  have  them  all  in  the 
bundle  on  my  back,  and  I  am  taking  them  over  to  them.' 
The  spider  kept  on  going,  and  one  of  the  geese  told  him: 
'You  stop,  and  give  us  one  of  those  songs  you  are  taking  over 
there.'  The  spider  kept  on  going;  said  he  was  in  a  terrible 
hurry,  but  he  still  kept  making  the  circle  of  the  lake;  he 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  89 

wanted  the  geese  to  yell  to  him  again,  which  they  did,  and 
finally  the  spider  yelled  over  to  the  geese:  'If  you  want 
one  of  my  songs,  come  over  here.'  The  spider  made  a  little 
booth  of  straw.  He  had  a  little  stick  and  was  standing  in 
the  door.  When  the  geese  came  over  he  told  them  to  go 
in  the  booth,  and  when  they  did  so,  he  sang  a  song,  and  told 
every  one  to  close  his  eyes,  for  every  one  who  opened  his 
eyes  would  have  red  eyes.  Of  course  they  all  closed  their 
eyes,  and  he  set  about  knocking  them  all  down.  One  of 
the  geese  happened  to  open  his  eyes,  and  he  called  out  to  the 
other  geese:  'Open  your  eyes  and  fly  away;  this  spider 
is  going  to  kill  you  all!'  and  he  flew  away.  The  spider 
said:  'You  will  have  red  eyes  forever!'  And  so  it  is  that  the 
duck  called  hell-diver  has  red  eyes." 

£MM 

Here  is  another  story:  There  was  a  solitary  man  going 
along,  and  he  had  a  lot  of  meat  on  his  back.  On  his  journey 
he  stopped  under  some  trees,  built  a  great  big  fire,  and  was 
broiling  some  of  the  meat  that  he  was  carrying.  The  branches 
of  two  trees  standing  near  got  crossed  over  each  other  and 
when  the  wind  blew  made  a  squeaking  noise.  The  man 
looked  up  to  the  tree,  and  said:  "My  brothers,  you  quit  fight 
ing  up  there!"  The  creaking  continued,  and  he  called  up  to 
them  again  to  stop  their  fighting.  But  it  still  continued, 
and  he  finally  said:  "I  am  going  to  part  you  two;  you  must 


90  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

stop  fighting."  And  he  put  his  hand  up  between  the  two 
branches;  as  he  put  his  hand  between  them  the  wind  stopped 
blowing.  His  hand  was  caught  and  he  was  not  able  to  get 
away.  Just  then  a  wolf  passed  along,  and  the  man  saw 
him  and  called  out  to  him:  "Go  on  about  your  business, 
and  let  my  things  alone."  The  wolf  did  not  know  anything 
about  the  broiled  meat  being  there,  but  when  this  man 
called  to  him,  he  said  to  himself:  "That  man  must  have 
something  for  me,"  and  he  walked  over  to  the  broiled  beef, 
took  it  all,  and  went  his  way.  After  the  wolf  had  gone  the 
wind  blew  again,  and  the  man  released  his  hand,  and  the 
squeaking  began  again.  The  man  cried,  and  was  sorry  in 
his  heart,  and  began  trailing  the  wolf  by  his  tracks.  He 
went  on  till  he  came  to  a  body  of  water,  in  which  he  plunged. 
He  looked  down  into  the  water,  and  saw  the  wolf  eating  his 
meat.  He  dove  down  into  the  water,  and  felt  all  around  and 
was  nearly  exhausted  when  he  came  out.  He  then  got  up  in 
a  tree  and  when  the  water  became  still  again,  there  was  the 
wolf  down  in  the  water  again,  so  the  man  got  down  and  tied 
a  rope  around  his  belt,  piled  some  rocks  on  his  side  so  he  could 
stay  down  there  long  enough  to  get  the  wolf.  During  all 
this  time  the  wolf  was  on  the  branch  of  the  tree  above  him; 
the  reflection  of  the  wolf  was  in  the  water.  When  the  man 
got  down  in  the  water,  the  weight  of  the  rocks  held  him  there, 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  91 

and  he  began  to  struggle  to  get  out,  and  just  barely  succeeded 
in  getting  out  of  the  water.  Just  as  he  got  out  of  the  water, 
he  looked  up  and  saw  the  wolf  on  the  top  of  the  tree.  The 
man's  sides  were  so  filled  with  stones  that  he  had  great  diffi 
culty  in  getting  up  the  steep  bank,  so  much  so  that  he  could 
hardly  crawl  to  the  top  of  the  bank,  and  as  he  was  struggling 
to  get  out,  the  wolf  finished  eating  the  meat,  jumped  down, 
and  ran  away.  So  ends  the  story. 

The  life  of  the  Indian  is  complex.  To  gather  up  the 
sixty-eight  years  of  this  man's  life  means  that  we  round  out  a 
problem  of  infinite  dimensions.  His  cradle  lullaby,  a  war 
song;  his  earliest  memories,  stained  with  the  blood  of  the 
white  man;  his  unshaken  valour  on  the  field  of  battle;  scars 
left  on  his  soul  by  the  broken  treaties  of  the  white  man; 
his  devotion  to  the  mysterious  gods  in  the  pantheon  of  Nature; 
his  unrequited  lament  at  the  loss  of  the  buffalo;  his  natural 
eloquence  born  from  the  throne  room  of  Nature:  his  final 
love  of  peace  and  acceptance  of  the  shining  face  of  the  Son  of 
Righteousness  all  lay  upon  civilization  the  heavy  hand  of 
condemnation. 

CHIEF  WHITE  HORSE 

"My  father  told  me  I  was  born  in  the  Black  Hills.  Ever 
since  I  can  remember  my  people  have  lived  on  the  shores  of 


92  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

the  Bad  River,  South  Dakota.  While  I  lived  there  I  saw 
the  white  people  for  the  first  time  coming  up  the  river  in 
the  big  boats.  At  this  time  the  buffalo  were  on  both  sides 
of  the  Missouri  River,  and  there  was  plenty  of  game  and  we 
were  all  living  fat  at  that  time.  It  was  not  very  long  before 
the  fort  was  built  at  the  mouth  of  the  Bad  River.  My 
father  liked  to  be  with  the  white  people,  and  we  were  up 
at  the  store  a  good  deal.  The  fort  finally  became  a  great 
trading  post.  The  Indians  brought  in  skins  of  the  various 
animals,  such  as  beaver,  wolf,  fox,  panther,  and  buffalo. 
While  I  was  still  a  young  boy  I  left  that  section  of  the  country 
and  came  further  west  with  the  other  Indians.  I  have 
always  tried  to  live  without  making  any  trouble  among  my 
own  people  or  with  the  whites.  When  I  got  out  among  the 
Sioux  I  began  to  learn  some  of  their  wild  tricks.  I  began  to 
learn  to  fight  the  other  Indians.  I  then  went  on  the  war 
path,  and  have  been  in  a  good  many  Indian  fights.  One 
fight  in  particular  against  the  Assinaboines  I  want  to  men 
tion.  In  this  battle  there  were  about  two  hundred  of  us 
Sioux.  The  fight  was  on  the  Missouri  River.  There  were 
charges  and  countercharges  several  times.  One  of  the  bravest 
came  in  advance  of  the  others  but  he  had  to  retreat.  I  put 
two  arrows  in  his  back  and  then  rushed  up  and  knocked  him 
off  his  horse  with  my  bow.  After  I  had  knocked  this  man  off 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  93 

his  horse  my  own  horse  ran  away  with  me  and  ran  right 
into  the  enemy's  line,  dashing  in  among  the  foe.  They  were 
firing  arrows  at  me  from  all  sides,  and  I  expected  that  this 
was  my  last  day.  This  was  the  greatest  fight  I  was  ever  in, 
though  I  have  been  in  many  others." 

It  is  a  long  step  from  the  spear  to  the  ploughshare,  but 
the  moccasined  feet  of  White  Horse  soon  took  the  step. 
Concerning  this  epoch  in  his  life,  he  said:  "The  most 
important  event  in  my  life  was  when  the  Government  began 
to  give  annuities  to  the  Indians  and  we  were  placed  on  the 
reservation.  I  have  always  been  a  leader  of  the  Indians  and 
a  chief.  When  farming  implements  were  assigned  us,  and 
the  allotments  made,  I  was  appointed  head  farmer  over 
the  Indians.  I  visited  the  Indians  all  over  my  district, 
and  tried  to  get  them  to  till  the  soil  and  send  their  children 
to  school.  I  sent  my  o\vn  boy  to  school  first  as  an  example 
to  the  others.  I  sent  my  children  to  a  nearby  school  until 
they  were  old  enough  and  then  I  was  one  of  the  first  to  send 
my  children  to  Hampton,  Virginia,  to  school.  They  all 
came  home  and  died  of  consumption.  About  this  time  the 
first  missionary  came  to  our  country,  and  I  was  one  of  the 
first  to  be  converted  to  the  Church.  I  have  since  done  all  I 
could  to  bring  the  other  Indians  into  the  Church.  I  went 
at  my  own  expense  down  to  the  place  \vhere  I  now  live. 


94  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

There  were  no  people  living  there  at  the  time,  and  I  cut  out 
of  the  woods  the  logs  and  built  a  church  in  my  own  home. 
I  had  no  help.  The  Indians  came  there  to  church,  and  after 
ward  they  named  the  church  the  White  Horse  Church. 
After  this  a  settlement  was  made  here  by  the  Indians,  and 
finally  the  Government  made  a  post-office  at  this  place,  and 
they  called  it  the  White  Horse  post-office.  It  has  since  become 
a  sub-agency.  The  influence  thus  brought  to  bear  on  the 
Indians  had  led  them  to  live  a  good  deal  as  the  white  man 
lives.  I  have  my  farm  now,  raise  cattle  and  horses.  All 
I  have  done  for  the  Government  and  for  the  Church  I  have 
been  glad  to  do,  for  they  have  all  been  kind  to  me.  While 
other  Indians  have  been  fighting  and  making  trouble  for  the 
United  States  I  have  never  participated  in  any  of  it." 

Before  passing  to  the  folklore  tale  that  fell  from  the  lips 
of  Chief  White  Horse,  the  attention  of  the  reader  is  especially 
directed  to  the  chapter  on  Indian  Impressions  of  the  last 
Great  Council,  where  White  Horse  describes  his  feelings  and 
the  lessons  he  learned  while  riding  for  the  first  time  on  the 
iron  horse. 

FOLKLORE  TALE  —  YANKTONAI  SIOUX 

"In  the  evenings  of  my  boyhood  days  my  father  always 
told  stories.  I  remember  that  I  used  to  go  to  sleep  while 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  95 

he  was  telling  stories.     This  is  one  of  the  stories  he  used  to 

tell:  T^here  goes  a  wolf  on  a  journey.     He  came  upon  three 

L*~ 
buffalo.     The  wolf  said  to  the  buffalo:     "My  brothers,  make 

me  as  one  of  you,  and  we  will  all  live  together.'  The  buffalo 
told  him:  'Will  you  stand  the  life  that  we  live?'  The  wolf 
said  'Yes,'  and  they  all  told  him  to  go  a  distance  off  and  lie 
down  on  his  back.  The  buffalo  was  going  to  make  the  wolf 
a  buffalo,  and  he  lay  down  on  his  back  and  sides  and  rolled 
in  the  dust,  and  then  he  got  up  and  shook  himself  and  he  then 
made  a  plunge  for  the  wolf  and  stuck  his  horns  in  him  and 
threw  him  in  the  air.  Just  as  he  got  to  the  wolf,  the  wolf 
jumped  aside,  and  the  buffalo  said:  'You  made  me  make 
that  hard  run  for  nothing.'  The  wolf  said:  'Try  again.' 
The  buffalo  said:  'This  time  you  stand  up  and  I  will  come  at 
you.'  So  the  wolf  stood  a  good  ways  off.  Just  as  the  buffalo 
reached  the  wolf,  the  wolf  turned  into  a  buffalo,  and  they 
locked  horns  with  each  other.  And  thus  he  became  a  strong 
buffalo.  He  roamed  with  the  buffalo  for  a  while.  The 
other  buffalo  went  off  a  little  way  by  themselves  and  grazed 
on  the  grass  while  the  wolf-buffalo  took  the  first  grass  near 
where  he  stood.  While  he  was  eating  there  another  wolf 
came  along,  and  he  said  to  the  buffalo:  'Make  me  a  buffalo, 
and  we  will  all  be  brothers  together.'  This  wolf  buffalo  then 
told  the  wolf  to  stand  just  as  he  had  stood  before.  This  wolf 


96  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

buffalo  lay  down  on  his  back  and  rolled  in  the  dust  and  went 
for  the  wolf,  and  as  he  was  going  to  strike  him  he  turned  back 
again  into  a  wolf,  and  the  two  wolves  were  there  together  fight 
ing.  The  wolf  buffalo  said :  'I  was  happy  as  a  buffalo,  and  was  liv 
ing  fat — why  did  you  come  around  here  and  make  me  into  a  wolf 
again?'  And  he  began  to  fight  him.  And  thus  the  story  ends. 
And  this  is  why  the  Indians  are  always  fighting  each  other." 

CHIEF    BEAR    GHOST 

The  great  Siouan,  or  Dakota  family,  is  divided  into  many 
different  tribes.  They  are  the  dislocated  remains  of  the 
"Seven  Great  Council  Fires."  The  Indians  resent  the  title 
of  Sioux,  meaning  "Hated  Foe,"  and  prefer  the  word  Dakota, 
which  means  "Leagued,"  or  "Allied."  There  is  the  Brule 
Sioux,  meaning  "Burnt  Hip";  the  Teton,  "On  a  Land 
without  Trees";  the  Santee  Sioux,  "Men  Among  Leaves," 
a  forest;  the  Sisseton  Sioux,  "Men  of  Prairie  Marsh," 
and  the  Yankton  Sioux,  which  means,  "At  the  End."  Chief 
Bear  Ghost  is  a  Yankton  Sioux.  Among  the  Dakotas  the 
chiefs  are  distinguished  by  a  name  that  has  either  some 
reference  to  their  abilities,  having  signalized  themselves  on  the 
warpath  or  in  the  chase,  or  it  may  be  handed  down  from  father 
to  son.  Chief  Bear  Ghost  bears  the  hereditary  name  of  his 
father,  Mato-wanagi  —  the  ghost  of  a  bear.  The  Dakotas 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  97 

count  their  years  by  winters,  and  all  their  records  are  called 
winter  counts.  They  say  a  man  is  so  many  snows  old,  or 
that  so  many  snow-seasons  have  occurred  since  a  certain 
period.  Adopting  their  own  phrasing  Chief  Ghost  Bear  is 
fifty-seven  snows  old.  Custer  was  not  poetical  when  he 
gave  the  Sioux  the  name  of  "cut-throats,"  but  he  may  have 
been  true  to  the  character  and  history  of  these  fierce  and 
warlike  tribes.  We  may  not  wonder  then  that  Bear  Ghost 
should  say:  "The  greatest  event  in  my  life  was  the  partici 
pation  in  two  great  wars.  I  was  on  the  warpath  on  the 
Missouri  River  against  the  Gros  Ventres  and  the  Mandans. 
It  was  a  hard,  fierce  struggle;  we  had  been  facing  and  shoot 
ing  each  other  from  early  dawn  until  the  sun  went  down. 
An  Indian  near  me,  an  enemy,  was  shot,  and  when  I  went 
after  him  my  horse  was  shot,  but  still  I  pressed  on  and  struck 
the  enemy  with  a  tomahawTk.  One  of  the  enemy  aimed 
at  me,  but  I  struck  him  with  the  tomahawk  before  he  could 
shoot,  and  when  this  struggle  was  over  the  Indians  called  us 
men.  In  other  years  we  came  to  that  same  place  again. 
Two  enemies  were  near  the  camp;  they  were  armed  with 
guns.  There  were  seven  of  the  enemy  and  but  two  of  us. 
We  went  right  up  to  the  camp.  I  shot  one  of  the  enemy  and 
wounded  him,  and  captured  one  of  their  horses.  Then  a 
great  number  of  Indians  came  out  and  chased  us.  They 


98  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

surrounded  us,  shooting  all  the  while,  and  the  horse  I  had 
taken  from  the  enemy  I  shot  rather  than  let  them  have  it. 
And  while  they  were  chasing  me  my  horse  became  exhausted 
and  I  had  to  get  off  and  lead  him.  I  ran  into  the  creek  where  my 
enemies  were  on  the  banks  shooting  at  me.  These  two  things 
I  consider  the  greatest  events  in  my  life,  for  I  expected  to 
die  each  time.  Then  I  was  made  head  chief  of  my  tribe." 

Before  the  police  system  was  established  on  the  reservation, 
Bear  Ghost,  along  with  one  other  Indian,  was  detailed  by 
Captain  Daugherty  to  watch  for  and  capture  a  man  who  had 
committed  murder.  Bear  Ghost  succeeded  in  carrying  out 
this  commission,  and  the  sheriff  was  sent  for  and  the  prisoner 
turned  over  to  him,  but  on  the  way  to  Bismarck  the  prisoner 
killed  the  sheriff,  jumped  onto  the  best  horse,  and  made  his 
escape.  Bear  Ghost  has  often  been  chosen  by  his  people  to 
represent  them  at  councils  held  among  other  tribes.  He 
was  also  sent  to  Washington,  on  matters  pertaining  to  trea 
ties  made  years  ago.  He  wears  the  countenance  of  a  Roman 
senator;  he  is  tall,  graceful,  and  full  of  dignity,  a  forceful 
and  convincing  speaker,  and  a  compelling  advocate  of  peace. 

CHIEF  RUNNING  FISHER* 

The  story  of  this  war-scarred  Gros  Ventres  veteran  empha 
sizes  with  double  pathos  the  many  times  expressed  sentiment 

*  Since  deceased 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  99 

of  this  book  that  the  Indian  is  a  vanishing  race,  for  he  died 
within  two  weeks  after  returning  home  from  the  last  Great 
Indian  Council.  His  words,  therefore,  are  deeply  significant: 
44 1  feel  sad  at  the  thought  of  not  meeting  these  chiefs  again, 
for  I  would  like  to  meet  them  all  once  more,  but  I  feel  pretty 
sure  we  will  never  meet  again." 

Chief  Running  Fisher  had  measured  threescore  years  of 
life,  and  for  forty  years  of  that  time  he  had  averaged  a  battle 
for  every  other  year.  Battles  in  Canada,  battles  in  the  moun 
tains,  and  battles  on  the  plains.  He  had  fought  the  Sioux, 
the  Blackfeet,  the  Nez  Perce,  the  Crows,  the  Shoshones,  and 
the  Piegans.  He  said:  "I  have  twenty  shots  in  my  body 
received  in  battle.  I  have  had  my  arm  broken  and  wrist 
sprained.  A  bullet  went  right  through  one  of  my  arms.  In 
early  days  I  fought  with  the  bow  and  arrow.  In  one  battle 
I  killed  two  men,  shooting  a  single  arrow  through  them  both. 
The  greatest  event  of  my  life  occurred  when  I  was  shot  at 
the  battle  of  Big  Spring  and  left  for  dead  on  the  field.  My 
friends  kept  back  the  enemy  as  long  as  they  could  and  when 
they  saw  that  I  did  not  revive  they  left  me.  I  was  bleeding 
from  the  inside,  a  coughing  of  blood  out  of  the  throat  brought 
me  to.  When  I  came  to  I  found  the  enemy  had  departed 
and  I  followed  the  tracks  of  my  own  tribe.  Some  of  my 
friends  were  shot  and  I  could  see  by  the  blood  stains  on  the 


100  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

snow  the  path  they  had  taken.  I  was  nineteen  years  of 
age  at  this  time.  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  overtook  the 
band.  They  travelled  much  faster  than  I  could,  but  I 
finally  reached  the  camp  and  recovered.  We  had  no  surgeons 
and  but  little  care.  Every  Indian  had  to  be  his  own  doctor. 
I  will  tell  you  about  another  close  call  I  had.  The  event 
that  I  am  now  about  to  relate  is  the  main  thing  that  makes  a 
chief  out  of  a  warrior.  We  had  a  fight  with  the  Piegans. 
One  of  the  Piegans  had  a  gun  and  a  dagger,  one  in  each  hand. 
This  Piegan  ran  at  me  and  I  ran  at  him.  As  we  came  together 
I  grabbed  the  Piegan's  gun  with  one  hand  and  his  dagger 
with  the  other  and  as  I  warded  off  his  charge,  his  gun  was 
fired,  and  I  took  the  gun  and  the  dagger  away  from  him. 
Then  my  friends  rushed  to  my  rescue  and  killed  the  Piegan 
and  scalped  him. 

Turning  from  battles  and  wounds,  let  this  old  chieftain 
recur  to  his  boyhood  days:  "I  remember  when  I  was  quite 
a  boy  the  wonderful  sun  dance.  It  greatly  impressed  me. 
I  could  not  understand  it  and  I  asked  my  father  about  it 
and  he  told  me  that  I  could  not  take  part  in  the  sun  dance 
until  I  had  earned  my  title  as  a  warrior.  The  sun  dance 
is  a  custom  among  the  Indians  which  seeks  to  elevate  a  spirit 
of  honour  among  men  as  well  as  women.  No  young  woman 
dare  take  part  in  the  sun  dance  unless  she  is  virtuous,  for 


*W/ 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  101 

she  is  sure  to  be  pointed  out  and  put  to  shame,  and  if  she  does 
not  take  part,  then  suspicion  falls  upon  her  and  she  is  like 
wise  put  to  shame.  The  men  emulate  the  deeds  of  their 
fathers  in  order  that  they  may  take  part  in  the  sun  dance. 
And  thus  this  wonderful  dance  becomes  a  school  for  patriotism 
among  the  tribes  and  a  stimulus  to  deeds  of  valour  as  well 
as  an  incentive  to  virtue.  I  do  not  think  that  anything  has 
ever  made  a  stronger  impression  upon  me  than  the  sun  dance. 
It  was  always  held  in  May,  a  beautiful  time  of  the  year,  and 
as  we  young  people  watched  the  various  phases  of  the  dance, 
both  young  men  and  young  women  desired  to  do  right  that 
we  might  have  our  share  in  this  wonderful  ceremony." 

This  passing  allusion  to  one  of  the  great  Indian  rites  and 
its  influence  upon  Indian  character  may  lead  the  reader  to 
follow  further  into  this  weird  enactment. 

Another  chieftain  has  been  folded  in  his  blanket.  The 
war-bonnet  and  war-shirt  he  wears  in  the  picture  we  made 
of  him  were  laid  beside  him  in  his  last  sleep,  emblems  of  his 
last  battle  and  tokens  of  his  final  conquest. 

BULL  SNAKE 

Old  Bull  Snake,  or  Snake  Bull's,  Indian  name  is  Ear- 
Ous-Sah-Chee-dups,  which  means  male  snake.  Years  ago 
when  far  from  camp  he  was  bitten  by  a  rattlesnake.  The 


102  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

only  companion  with  him  did  all  within  his  power  to  save 
his  friend.  The  death  stupor  was  coming  on,  and  his  com 
panion  hurried  to  the  camp  with  the  tidings.  His  relations 
rushed  to  the  rescue.  He  finally  recovered  and  has  ever 
since  been  called  Bull  Snake.  It  is  a  fitting  appellation 
for  this  grizzled  warrior  of  sixty-eight  years.  The  bow  and 
arrow  became  the  plaything  of  his  boyhood  days.  With 
it  he  sought  the  lair  of  wild  things  and  shot  with  glee  the 
buffalo  calf;  his  final  strength  winging  the  arrow  through 
the  heart  of  the  buffalo  bull.  Then  came  the  days  of  the  war 
trail,  eager,  savage  days  —  days  when  the  hated  foe  was  pur 
sued  on  foot  and  the  warpath  was  followed  for  very  love  of 
war.  This  passion  for  war  led  him  to  the  camp  of  General 
Crook,  where  he  was  assigned  the  task  of  trailing  the  hostile 
Sioux.  The  further  story  of  Bull  Snake  is  best  told  in  his 
own  words: 

"At  that  time  I  must  have  been  about  twenty -three  years 
old.  We  moved  down  to  the  Little  Rosebud.  I  was  the 
first  of  the  scouts  to  discover  the  Sioux  who  were  approaching 
us.  After  I  reported,  I  mounted  my  horse  and  in  company 
with  two  other  scouts  went  over  to  locate  the  Sioux.  We 
found  ten  Sioux  and  began  to  fight.  My  companions  with 
both  of  their  horses  were  killed.  Then  the  battle  of  the 
Little  Rosebud  began.  The  Sioux  and  Cheyennes  were 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  103 

all  circling  about  us.  General  Crook  sent  for  me.  The 
entire  command  was  surrounded.  I  thought  it  was  my  last 
day.  I  asked  to  be  allowed  to  make  a  dash  for  a  weak  point 
in  the  line,  his  soldiers  to  follow.  I  did  this  and  we  broke 
through.  Crook  right  flanked  the  enemy  and  won  the  day. 
In  the  counter  attack  two  other  Crows  were  on  the  ridge 
with  me  fighting.  I  raised  my  coup  stick  to  strike  a  Sioux 
and  he  shot  me,  hitting  my  horse  and  we  fell  together.  I 
found  that  I  was  badly  wounded  and  could  not  stand  up. 
I  raised  up  as  far  as  I  could  and  fired  three  shots  at  the  Sioux. 
There  the  battle  ended." 

War  worn,  halting  on  one  foot,  this  savior  of  Crook's 
entire  command  presents  a  pitiful  remnant  of  Indian  valour. 
Speech  more  pathetic  never  came  from  the  lips  of  any  man: 
"The  greatest  thing  to  me  is  the  education  of  my  children. 
Since  I  was  wounded,  about  thirty-six  years  ago,  I  have  been 
thinking  over  my  life.  My  leg  has  been  weak  and  my  heart 
has  been  sorry.  I  feel  that  I  have  suffered  because  I  have 
followed  my  Great  Father's  order.  I  am  glad  I  fought  for 
the  soldiers,  for  I  think  it  was  the  right  thing  to  do.  Because 
of  my  wounded  leg  I  am  not  able  to  work;  sometimes  I 
nearly  starve,  and  yet  I  feel  that  I  did  the  right  thing.  Will 
you  be  kind  enough  to  see  that  I  get  my  pension?  I  need  it!" 
Be  kind  enough?  Let  the  Government  make  answer  in 


104  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

gratitude  to  the  sagacious  bravery  of  a  red  man  bearing 
through  life  his  daily  burden  of  pain  and  the  greater  suffering 
of  an  unrequited  heart  who  gloriously  met  the  test  of  sacrifice. 

MOUNTAIN  CHIEF 

Omaq-kat-tsa,  carrying  with  it  the  meaning  of  Big  Brave, 
is  a  name  eminently  fitting  to  Mountain  Chief.  The  nobility 
of  his  presence,  the  Roman  cast  of  his  face,  the  keen  pene 
tration  of  his  eye,  the  breadth  of  his  shoulders,  the  dignity 
with  which  he  w^ears  the  sixty -seven  years  of  his  life,  all  con 
spire  to  make  this  hereditary  chief  of  the  Past  Buffalo  Horse 
band  of  the  Blackfeet  preeminent  among  the  Indians  and 
eminent  among  any  class  of  men.  He  wears  his  hair  on  the 
left  side  in  two  braids;  on  the  right  side  he  wears  one  braid, 
and  where  the  other  braid  should  be,  the  hair  hangs  in  long, 
loose  black  folds.  He  is  very  demonstrative.  He  acts  out  in 
pantomime  all  that  he  says.  He  carries  a  tin  whistle  pendent 
to  his  necklace.  First  he  is  whistling,  again  he  is  singing, 
then  he  is  on  his  hands  and  knees  on  the  ground  pawing  up 
the  dust  like  a  buffalo  when  he  is  angry.  His  gestures  are 
violent  and  his  speech  is  guttural,  like  the  sputtering  of  water 
from  an  exhaust.  He  sings  a  war  song  of  his  own  composition 
and  you  can  hear  him  for  a  mile.  When  asked  to  tell  a  story 
of  his  boyhood  days  he  said  that  rather  than  tell  such  a  story 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  105 

he  would  prefer  to  describe  the  management  of  the  camp 
under  the  two  great  chiefs;  his  father,  Mountain  Chief,  and 
Chief  Lame  Bull.  These  two  men  signed  the  treaty  between 
the  United  States  and  the  Blackfoot  tribe,  together  with  other 
tribes,  in  1855,  when  Franklin  Pierce  was  President.  The 
historic  information  vouchsafed  by  Mountain  Chief  regarding 
the  conduct  of  an  Indian  camp,  their  manner  and  method  of 
hunting  buffalo,  and  the  purposes  to  which  they  put  the 
buffalo,  has  never  before  been  put  in  type : 

"I  remember  the  different  chiefs  in  the  camp  when  I  was 
a  boy,  and  how  they  governed  the  camp.  My  father,  Moun 
tain  Chief,  and  his  chum,  Chief  Lame  Bull,  were  living  in  the 
same  tepee.  They  each  had  a  medicine  pipe.  These  two 
chiefs  made  the  plans  before  they  moved  the  camp.  After 
the  plans  were  made,  they  took  their  medicine  pipes  and 
placed  them  against  the  rear  side  of  the  tepee.  That  in 
dicated  that  the  camp  was  going  to  remain  for  another  day. 
The  women  of  the  camp  were  sent  around  by  the  various 
warriors  to  note  the  position  of  the  pipes  so  they  could  tell 
what  the  plans  were.  When  they  came  back,  they  told  their 
husbands  the  pipes  were  in  the  rear  of  the  tepee;  then  the 
husbands  would  say:  'The  camp  is  going  to  remain  for 
another  day.'  Then  the  chiefs  sent  for  Four  Bear,  who  asked 
certain  Indians  to  go  around  and  tell  the  people  that  the 


106  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

camp  would  remain  for  another  day.  Then  Four  Bear  went 
toward  the  camp  from  the  sunrise  and  walked  around  the 
camp  toward  the  sunset.  Then  the  Indians  told  their  wives 
and  children  to  keep  still,  and  see  what  was  going  to  be  said. 
Four  Bear  would  then  tell  the  people  that  the  camp  would 
remain  another  day  and  to  tell  their  wives  to  go  after  wood. 
Then  the  women  took  the  travois  and  went  after  wood.  Then 
the  chiefs  sent  for  the  leaders  and  warriors;  we  called  them 
'crazy  dogs.5  The  leaders  of  the  crazy  dogs  came  into  the 
tepee  of  Mountain  Chief  and  Lame  Bull,  and  my  father, 
Mountain  Chief,  told  these  two  crazy  dogs  to  start  before 
sunrise,  and  to  take  with  them  the  other  crazy  dogs  to  find 
where  there  was  a  lot  of  good  fresh  water,  and  a  lot  of  grass 
where  they  might  camp,  and  also  where  they  might  find  the 
nearest  herd  of  buffalo.  The  crazy  dogs  found  a  good  place 
where  there  was  plenty  of  buffalo  and  water,  and  then  they 
marked  the  camp.  When  these  crazy  dogs  found  a  location 
for  the  camp  they  were  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  big  herd  of 
buffalo.  On  their  return,  before  they  reached  the  camp  they 
began  to  sing  a  crazy  dog  song,  riding  abreast.  It  means: 
'A  song  to  sharpen  your  knife,  and  patch  up  your  stomach,  for 
you  are  going  to  have  something  good  to  eat.'  They  made  a 
circle,  coming  to  camp  from  the  sunrise,  and  moved  toward 
the  sunset,  and  then  the  leaders  told  the  camp  they  had  seen 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  107 

lots  of  buffalo.  Then  they  dismounted  and  went  home.  After 
the  crazy  dogs  had  had  their  meal,  they  went  over  to  the  tepee 
of  the  chiefs;  then  they  told  the  chiefs  they  had  found  a  good 
camping  place,  good  ground,  good  water,  and  a  big  herd  of 
buffalo  just  beyond.  The  crazy  dogs  had  their  smoke,  it 
was  late  when  they  went  home,  and  then  they  sent  for  Four 
Bear.  Four  Bear  went  to  the  camp,  told  the  people  con 
cerning  their  new  camp,  and  the  next  morning  the  women  took 
the  medicine  pipes  and  put  them  at  the  side  of  the  tepee  looking 
toward  the  direction  where  they  were  going  to  camp.  Hus 
bands  told  their  wives  to  go  out  and  see  on  which  side  of  the 
tepee  the  medicine  pipes  were  placed,  that  they  might  know 
where  they  were  going.  Then  the  wives  came  in  and  told 
them  that  the  medicine  pipes  pointed  in  a  northerly  direction. 
The  husbands  told  the  wives  that  the  camp  was  going  to  move 
north.  The  camp  broke  up  that  very  morning.  The  chiefs 
and  their  wives  sat  by  their  tepees  in  a  half  circle,  smoking  while 
the  camp  was  being  broken  up.  After  the  chiefs  were  through 
smoking,  they  got  up,  and  found  the  camp  ready  to  move. 
They  got  a  lot  of  mixed  tobacco  ready,  and  then  they  got 
on  their  horses.  The  chiefs  started  out  in  procession.  After 
going  some  distance  they  halted;  the  crazy  dogs  followed, 
standing  on  each  side,  watching  the  movement  of  the  camp  to 
see  that  everybody  was  out.  After  everybody  had  left  the 


108  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

camp,  the  chiefs  followed  the  procession.  When  they  thought 
it  was  noon  they  made  a  halt.  They  took  their  travois  and 
saddles  from  the  horses,  and  rested;  then  had  their  lunch. 
The  chiefs  then  told  Four  Bear  to  get  the  camp  in  traveling 
shape  again,  and  went  on.  Finally  they  came  to  the  spot 
where  the  camping  place  was  marked.  They  then  took  the 
medicine  pipes  and  put  them  on  a  tripod,  and  the  warriors 
came  and  sat  around  and  smoked.  Four  Bear  was  then  told  to 
get  the  people  settled,  to  tie  up  the  buffalo  horses,  and  get 
ready  for  the  hunt.  Four  Bear  then  told  the  people  not  to' 
get  a  meal  but  to  get  a  little  lunch,  and  get  ready  for  the  hunt. 
Then  the  chiefs  started  out  for  the  buffalo,  the  hunters  fol 
lowing.  They  stopped  halfway  before  they  got  to  the  herd, 
and  told  all  the  hunters  not  to  start  for  the  buffalo  until  they 
were  all  ready  and  everybody  had  a  fair  chance.  In  the  mean 
time  one  of  the  Indians  sneaked  away  to  crawl  up  toward  the 
buffalo.  Then  this  fellow  chased  the  buffalo,  and  the  crazy 
dogs  took  after  him.  When  they  got  him,  they  broke  his 
gun,  his  arrows  and  bow,  broke  his  knife,  cut  his  horse's 
tail  off,  tore  off  his  clothes,  broke  his  saddle  in  pieces,  tore 
his  robe  in  pieces,  cut  his  rope  into  small  bits,  also  his  whip. 
Then  they  sent  him  off  afoot.  About  that  time  the  buffalo 
had  stopped  again,  then  the  main  body  got  on  their  horses, 
and  started  the  chase.  If  a  hunter  hit  a  buffalo  with  one 


i 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  109 

arrow,  he  gave  a  scream,  and  that  indicated  that  he  had  hit 
him  just  once.  There  were  very  few  guns  in  those  days  and 
those  were  flint-locks.  Sometimes  when  a  hunter  rode  side 
by  side  with  a  buffalo,  and  shot  the  animal,  the  arrow  would 
go  clear  through.  The  Indians  were  very  proud  and  careful 
of  their  arrows.  They  did  not  wish  to  break  them.  That 
is  the  reason  why  they  shot  them  on  the  side,  so  that  when 
the  buffalo  fell  the  arrow  would  not  be  broken.  Lots  of  the 
buffalo  fell  on  their  knees,  and  would  begin  to  move  from 
side  to  side.  Then  the  Indian,  for  fear  that  the  arrow  would 
be  broken,  jumped  off  his  horse  and  pulled  it  out.  The  hunter 
then  tied  his  horse  to  the  horns  of  the  buffalo  for  fear  that 
he  might  be  attacked  by  enemies  at  any  moment.  After 
this  they  took  out  their  knives  and  sharpened  them  on  hard 
steel,  like  the  flint  with  which  they  made  fire.  All  the  time 
they  were  sharpening  their  knives  they  were  looking  around 
for  the  approach  of  the  enemy.  The  fire  steel  was  scarce, 
we  had  to  use  rocks  most  of  the  time.  The  knives  we  pro 
cured  from  the  Hudson  Bay  Company.  When  we  killed  a 
buffalo  bull,  we  placed  him  on  his  knees,  then  we  began  to 
skin  him  down  the  back  of  the  neck,  down  the  backbone, 
splitting  it  on  each  side.  The  cows  we  laid  on  their  backs, 
and  cut  down  the  middle.  We  used  the  buffalo  cowhide 
for  buffalo  robes;  the  buffalo  bulls'  hides  were  split  down  the 


110  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

back  because  from  this  hide  we  made  war  shields,  parflesche 
bags,  and  saddle  blankets.  The  husbands  would  tell  the 
wives  to  take  care  of  the  heads.  The  wives  took  the  brains 
out  of  the  buffalo  skull  and  mixed  them  with  the  largest  part 
of  the  liver,  and  after  mixing  well,  used  the  brains  and  liver 
in  tanning  the  hides.  Then  the  wife  was  told  to  take  out 
the  tripe  and  skin  it,  for  they  used  the  skin  as  a  bucket  with 
which  to  carry  water  when  they  got  home.  They  had  strips 
of  rawhide  about  three  feet  long  and  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
wide  and  tied  the  meat  so  that  they  could  carry  it  home  on 
the  horses.  They  took  the  backbone  after  it  had  been 
cleaned  of  the  flesh,  and  tied  the  meat  to  that  and  threw  it 
over  the  back  of  the  horse  so  that  the  load  would  not  hurt 
the  back  of  the  horse.  When  we  got  home  with  the  meat 
we  unloaded.  The  men  who  had  gone  without  their  wives 
simply  got  off  their  horses  and  went  into  the  tepee.  The 
women  rushed  out  to  get  the  meat.  Then  the  women  took 
the  horse  with  the  meat  on  it  to  their  father-in-law.  Then 
the  mother-in-law  hurried  to  get  the  meal,  taking  the  ribs 
of  the  buffalo,  setting  them  up  against  the  fire  to  roast.  After 
the  meat  was  cooked  it  was  cut  in  slices  and  placed  in  a  wooden 
bowl,  and  the  mother-in-law  took  the  meat  over  to  the  lodge 
of  her  son-in-law.  That  was  all  we  had  for  our  meal.  We 
had  no  coffee  or  anything  else  to  eat,  but  we  made  a  good  meal 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  111 

from  the  meat  of  the  buffalo.  Then  the  son-in-law  said  to  his 
wife :  Your  mother  has  been  feeding  me  all  the  time,  now  you 
go  out  and  catch  that  mare  and  give  it  to  her  as  a  present. 
There  was  plenty  of  meat  in  the  camp  and  then  we  boys  would 
go  out  and  play  buffalo.  We  would  take  a  long  piece  of 
rawhide,  fasten  a  piece  of  meat  to  it,  and  one  of  us  would  drag 
it  along  while  the  others  fired  arrows  into  it  —  the  arrows 
we  used  for  killing  squirrels  and  birds.  When  we  chased  the 
boy  dragging  the  piece  of  meat  he  would  stop  after  we  over 
took  him,  and  paw  the  dust  and  would  imitate  the  buffalo 
bull,  and  pick  up  the  piece  of  meat  and  swing  it  round  his 
head,  all  the  while  we  were  trying  to  shoot  arrows  into  it. 
But  sometimes  in  the  swinging  of  the  meat  with  the  arrows 
in  it  a  boy  would  get  hit,  and  then  he  would  run  back  and 
fall  down,  and  we  would  run  back  to  him  and  say  that  he  had 
been  hooked.  He  would  be  groaning  all  the  time.  Then  we 
would  pick  up  weeds  and  squeeze  the  juice  out  of  them, 
acting  as  though  we  were  doctors.  About  that  time  night 
came  on,  and  the  chiefs  sent  for  Four  Bear,  and  Four  Bear 
would  go  around  and  tell  the  people  that  the  grass  in  that 
camp  was  pretty  well  taken  up.  The  next  morning  the  women 
would  take  their  medicine  pipes  and  put  them  on  the  side, 
indicating  where  the  next  camp  was  going  to  be,  and  thus  we 
went  on  from  camp  to  camp. 


THE  VANISHING  RACE 

"The  years  have  passed  on,  and  now  the  old  warriors  and 
myself  get  together  and  talk  about  the  old  buffalo  days,  and 
we  feel  very  lonesome.  We  talk  over  the  camping  places, 
and  the  old  days  of  the  chase,  and  the  events  of  those  times, 
and  we  feel  glad  again.  When  we  think  of  the  old  times  we 
think  also  of  the  white  man  for  it  was  their  arms  that  made 
the  buffalo  extinct.  If  the  Indians  had  had  nothing  but 
arrows,  the  buffalo  would  be  left  to-day.  We  blame  the 
Government  again,  for  they  told  the  agents  not  to  sell  am 
munition  to  the  Indians,  and  they  sold  this  ammunition  on  the 
sly.  This  was  done  so  that  the  Indians  could  get  the  hides 
for  the  traders. 

"The  greatest  event  in  my  life  was  in  the  war  of  the  Black- 
feet  against  the  Crees,  at  Hope  Up,  Canada.  My  horse  and 
myself  were  both  covered  with  blood.  Let  me  tell  you  about 
this  battle.  The  war  was  between  the  Blackfeet  and  the  Crees. 
The  camp  was  on  Old  Man's  River.  The  bands  were  so  many 
that  they  were  camped  on  every  bend  of  the  river.  My 
father,  Mountain  Chief,  was  at  the  upper  end  of  the  camp.  I 
was  twenty-two  years  old  at  the  time.  It  was  in  the  fall  of  the 
year,  and  the  leaves  had  all  fallen.  The  lower  camp  was  at 
tacked  by  the  Crees  at  night.  The  people  were  just  getting  up 
in  the  morning  when  the  news  came  that  the  lower  camp  had 
been  attacked  by  the  Crees.  I  got  my  best  horse;  it  was  a 


! 


I 

• 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  113 

gray  horse.  My  father  led  his  band  in  company  with  Big 
Lake  who  that  summer  had  been  elected  a  big  chief.  We  rode 
up  over  the  ridge  while  in  the  plain  below  the  battle  was  rag 
ing.  As  we  rode  down  the  hill  slope,  I  began  to  sing  my  war 
song.  I  carried  the  shield  in  my  hand  and  this  song  that  I 
sung  belonged  to  that  shield.  One  of  the  medicine  men 
dreamed  that  whoever  held  this  shield  would  not  be  hit  by 
the  bullets.  While  singing  I  put  in  the  words :  '  My  body  will 
be  lying  on  the  plains.'  When  I  reached  the  line  of  battle  I 
did  not  stop,  but  rode  right  in  among  the  Crees,  and  they  were 
shooting  at  me  frgm  behind  and  in  front.  When  I  rode  back 
the  same  way  the  men  made  a  break  for  the  coulee.  As  soon 
as  the  men  got  into  the  coulee  they  dug  a  pit.  I  was  lying 
about  ten  yards  away  on  the  side  of  the  hill.  I  was  singing 
while  lying  there.  I  could  not  hear  on  account  of  the  roar  of 
the  guns,  and  could  not  see  for  the  smoke.  About  that  time 
they  heard  my  whistle,  and  the  Crees  made  a  break  for  the 
river.  Then  the  Blackfeet  made  an  onrush  for  the  Crees  and 
I  ran  over  two  of  them  before  they  got  to  the  river.  As  they 
were  crossing  the  river  I  jumped  off  my  horse  and  took  my 
spear  and  stabbed  one  of  the  Crees  between  the  shoulders.  He 
had  a  spear  and  I  took  that  away  from  him.  I  jumped  off  my 
horse  again,  and  just  as  I  returned  there  was  a  Cree  who  raised 
his  gun  to  fire  at  me.  I  ran  over  him,  and  he  jumped  up  and 


114  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

grabbed  my  horse  by  the  bridle.  I  swung  my  horse's  head 
around  to  protect  myself  and  took  the  butt  of  my  whip  and 
knocked  him  down.  When  I  struck  him  he  looked  at  me  and 
I  found  that  his  nose  had  been  cut  off.  I  heard  afterward  that 
a  bear  had  bitten  his  nose  off.  After  I  knocked  him  down,  I 
killed  him.  I  jumped  on  my  horse  and  just  then  I  met  another 
Cree.  We  had  a  fight  on  our  horses;  he  shot  at  me  and  I  shot 
at  him.  When  we  got  close  together  I  took  his  arrows  away 
from  him,  and  he  grabbed  me  by  the  hair  of  the  head.  I  saw 
him  reach  for  his  dagger,  and  just  then  we  clinched.  My  war- 
bonnet  had  worked  down  on  my  neck,  and  when  he  struck  at 
me  with  his  dagger  it  struck  the  war-bonnet,  and  I  looked  down 
and  saw  the  handle  sticking  out,  and  grabbed  it  and  killed  the 
other  Indian.  Then  we  rushed  the  Crees  into  the  pit  again, 
and  my  father  came  up  with  one  of  the  old  muskets  and  handed 
it  to  me.  It  had  seven  balls  in  it,  and  when  I  fired  it  it  kicked 
so  hard  it  almost  killed  me.  I  feel  that  I  had  a  more  narrow 
escape  by  shooting  that  gun  than  I  had  with  the  Indians. 
When  we  returned  I  had  taken  nine  different  scalps.  The 
Crees  who  had  not  been  scalped  had  taken  refuge  in  the  scant 
forest,  and  my  father  said  to  quit  and  go  home.  So  we  took 
pity  on  the  tribe,  and  let  them  go,  so  they  could  tell  the  story. 
I  remember  that  we  killed  over  three  hundred,  and  many  more 
that  I  cannot  remember.  When  we  returned  we  began  to 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  115 

count  how  many  we  had  killed.  We  crossed  the  creek  and 
went  to  the  pit,  and  they  were  all  in  a  pile.  Then  we  were  all 
singing  around  the  pit,  and  I  put  in  the  words,  'The  guns,  they 
hear  me.'  And  everybody  turned  and  looked  at  me,  and  I  was 
a  great  man  after  that  battle.  Then  we  went  home  and  began 
to  talk  about  the  battle,  and  the  Indians  who  were  dead. 
There  never  was  any  peace  between  J;he  Crees  and  the  Black- 
feet  ;  they  were  always  bitter  enemies.  When  the  battle  began, 
the  leader  of  the  Crees  came  right  up  to  our  tepee  and  slit  it, 
and  said:  'You  people  are  sleeping  yet,  and  I  came,'  I  fired 
a  gun  and  killed  him.  The  Crees  took  their  knives  and  slit 
the  tepees  of  our  village  down  the  sides  and  then  rushed  in. 
When  the  Crees  rushed  into  the  tepees  they  took  everything 
they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  killing  the  women  and  children, 
and  that  made  me  mad.  That  was  why  I  fought  so  hard  that 
day." 


MOUNTAIN  CHIEF'S  BOYHOOD  SPORTS 


"I  remember  when  I  was  a  boy  how  we  used  to  trap  foxes, 
We  all  got  together  and  took  our  sisters  along,  took  the  axe, 
went  into  the  woods  and  cut  willows,  tied  them  up  in  bundles, 
and  put  them  on  our  backs,  our  sisters  doing  the  same  thing. 
We  would  go  to  the  east  of  the  camp,  where  the  smoke  and  all 
of  the  scent  would  go,  find  a  snowdrift  in  the  coulee  and  unload 


116  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

our  packs.  The  first  thing  we  did  was  to  stamp  on  the  snow  — 
to  see  if  it  was  solid.  We  would  drive  four  sticks  into  the  snow, 
and  while  driving  in  the  sticks  we  would  sing:  'I  want  to 
catch  the  leader.'  The  song  is  a  fox  song  to  bring  good  luck. 
As  far  as  I  can  remember  I  got  this  story  from  my  grandfather. 
There  was  an  old  man  in  the  camp  who  went  to  the  mountains, 
and  stayed  there  for  four  days  without  anything  to  eat  in  order 
that  he  might  get  his  dream.  A  fox  came  to  him  and  told 
him:  'This  is  one  way  you  can  kill  us/  and  this  is  why  we  put 
in  this  song  while  we  were  making  the  deadfall.  After  we 
got  through  fixing  up  our  deadfall  we  returned  home,  a  boy 
in  the  lead,  then  a  girl,  then  a  boy,  then  a  girl,  and  while  we 
were  returning  to  the  camp  we  sang  the  fox  song,  putting 
in  these  words:  'I  want  to  kill  the  leader.'  Then  we  fell 
down,  imitating  the  fox  in  the  trap.  When  we  got  back  to 
camp  we  took  buffalo  meat,  covering  it  with  fat  and  roasted 
it  a  while  so  that  the  fox  would  get  the  scent.  Then  we 
took  the  bait  and  put  it  on  a  stick  and  put  it  over  our  left 
arm,  and  then  the  boys  and  girls  all  went  back  again,  singing 
as  we  went;  'We  hope  to  have  good  luck.'  This  song  was 
a  good-luck  song.  After  we  put  the  bait  in  the  trap  we  all 
went  home  silently,  not  saying  a  word.  But  before  we  went 
to  bed  my  mother  said  to  me:  'I  am  going  to  get  a  piece  of 
dried  beef  without  any  fat,  and  you  take  it  over  to  the  old 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  117 

man  who  always  has  good  luck  in  trapping  foxes,  and  he 
will  pray  for  you  that  you  may  have  good  luck.'  When  the 
dried  meat  was  done,  I  took  it  over  to  the  old  man,  gave  it 
to  him,  and  asked  him  to  pray  for  me  that  I  might  have  good 
luck.  The  old  fellow  would  then  start  to  say  his  prayers  for 
me.  The  old  man  to  whom  he  prayed  was  the  old  man  that 
dreamed  how  to  kill  the  fox.  The  old  man  told  me  to  pick 
up  four  stones  about  five  inches  long,  and  tie  them  with  a 
string.  He  tied  a  stone  on  each  wrist,  one  behind  my  neck, 
and  one  at  the  back  of  my  belt.  Then  he  took  charcoal 
and  blackened  my  nose  on  each  side  to  represent  the  fox, 
then  he  made  me  take  off  my  clothes;  he  took  a  stick  about 
five  feet  long  and  held  it  in  an  inclined  position.  The  old 
man  then  took  two  sticks  and  hit  them  together,  and  stood 
right  by  the  door  singing.  He  told  me  to  whistle;  then  he 
walked  toward  the  point  where  he  had  held  the  sticks.  He 
then  lay  down  by  the  stick  and  began  to  scratch  on  the  ground 
as  though  he  were  caught  in  a  trap.  Then  he  said:  'You 
are  going  to  catch  one  now.'  By  this  time  it  was  pretty 
late  in  the  night.  We  gave  a  signal  to  the  other  boys  and 
girls  to  come  out  and  we  all  went  to  see  our  traps.  I  had  a 
robe  made  out  of  a  yearling  calfskin  that  I  threw  over  me, 
and  I  also  had  a  rope  my  mother  gave  me  with  which  to  drag 
the  foxes  home  if  I  caught  any.  Then  we  went  to  our  traps, 


118  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

following  the  same  path  as  we  did  when  we  went  to  set  the 
trap  with  bait.  As  we  went  along  we  filled  the  night  with 
song,  singing:  'The  fox  is  in  a  trap,  and  his  tail  is  sticking  out.' 
When  we  got  near  the  traps  we  stopped  singing,  and  one  of 
us  went  on  ahead.  The  leader  who  went  ahead  walked 
straight  to  our  trap,  when  he  returned  he  whistled;  then 
we  knew  that  some  of  us  had  caught  something.  When 
he  came  back  he  pointed  out  certain  ones  who  had  caught 
foxes.  Then  we  lifted  our  deadfalls,  slipped  the  ropes  over 
them,  and  dragged  them  home.  As  we  approached  the  camp 
we  formed  in  line  abreast,  and  began  to  sing.  When  we 
reached  the  camp  every  one  was  in  bed.  We  sang  the  song 
which  indicated  that  we  had  caught  something;  then  we 
imitated  the  cry  of  the  crow  and  the  magpie,  which  indicated 
that  we  had  had  extra  good  luck.  If  we  imitated  the  hooting 
of  an  owl,  it  showed  that  we  had  had  bad  luck,  and  none  of  us 
had  caught  anything.  We  were  always  anxious  to  catch 
some  wild  game,  because  we  sold  the  skins  to  the  traders, 
and  with  the  money  we  bought  knives  and  brass  earrings 
and  beads  and  paint." 

CHIEF  RED  CLOUD 

Chief  Red  Cloud,  head  chief  of  the  Ogallallas,  was  without 
doubt  the  most  noted  and  famous  chief  at  the  time  of  his 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS 

death,;  December,  1909,  in  the  United  States.  He  became 
famous  through  his  untiring  efforts  in  opposition  to  every 
thing  the  Government  attempted  to  do  in  the  matter  of 
the  pacification  of  the  Sioux.  One  of  the  most  lurid  pages 
in  the  history  of  Indian  warfare  records  the  massacre  at 
Fort  Phil  Kearny,  in  December,  1866.  Chief  Red  Cloud 
planned  and  executed  this  terrific  onslaught.  He  always 
remained  a  chief.  He  was  always  the  head  of  the  restless 
element,  always  the  fearless  and  undaunted  leader.  He  was 
the  Marshal  Ney  of  the  Indian  nations,  until  sickness  and 
old  age  sapped  his  vitality  and  ambition. 

The  holding  of  the  last  Great  Indian  Council  occurred  a 
little  less  than  two  months  before  his  death.  Blind  and 
bedridden  he  could  not  attend  the  council.  During  the  last 
few  shattered  years  of  his  warrior  life,  he  relegated  all  the 
powers  of  chieftainship  to  his  son,  now  fifty-four  years  of  age. 
The  younger  Chief  Red  Cloud  attended  the  council.  He  is 
tall  and  straight  and  lithe,  and  possesses  a  splendid  mili 
tary  bearing.  He  is  a  winsome  speaker,  and  his  words  are 
weighted  with  the  gold  of  Nature's  eloquence.  Every  attitude 
of  his  body  carries  the  charm  of  consummate  grace,  and  when 
he  talks  to  you  there  is  a  byplay  of  changing  lights  in  his 
face  that  becomes  fascinating.  Like  his  father  he  was  a  born 
leader  and  warrior.  His  story  of  the  Custer  fight  and  his 


120  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

participation  in  it  may  be  found  in  the  chapter  on  that 
subject.  Regarding  his  own  life  he  tells  us: 

"It  has  been  a  part  of  my  life  to  go  out  on  the  warpath, 
ever  since  I  was  fourteen  years  old.  As  you  know  it  is  a 
part  of  our  history  that  the  man  who  goes  on  the  warpath 
and  kills  the  most  enemies  gets  a  coup  stick,  and  the  coup 
stick  is  the  stepping-stone  to  become  a  chief.  I  remember 
my  first  war  party  was  forty-one  years  ago.  This  battle 
was  at  Pryor  Creek  against  the  Crows.  I  was  in  four  great 
battles,  with  my  father,  Chief  Red  Cloud.  At  the  battle 
of  Pryor  Creek  I  captured  many  horses,  and  took  three 
scalps.  Thirty-four  years  ago  I  killed  four  Crows  and 
earned  my  coup  stick.  I  kept  these  scalps  until  my  visit 
to  Washington  when  some  white  man  wanted  them. 

"I  want  to  speak  about  the  buffalo.  There  were  plenty  of 
buffalo  and  deer  when  I  was  a  young  man,  but  the  white 
man  came  and  frightened  all  the  game  away,  and  I  blame 
the  white  man  for  it.  By  order  of  our  Great  Father  in  Wash 
ington  the  buffalo  were  all  killed.  By  this  means  they  sought 
to  get  the  Sioux  Indians  back  to  their  reservation. 

"The  greatest  event  in  my  life  I  may  explain  in  this  way: 
Years  ago  I  had  been  trained  to  go  on  the  warpath.  I  loved 
to  fight;  I  was  fighting  the  Indians  and  fighting  the  soldiers. 
Then  there  came  a  time  when  the  Great  Father  said  we  must 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS 

stop  fighting  and  go  to  school,  we  must  live  in  peace,  that 
we  were  Indian  brothers,  and  must  live  in  peace  with  the  white 
man.  I  believe  that  the  greatest  event  in  my  life  was  when 
I  stopped  the  old  Indian  custom  of  fighting  and  adopted 
what  the  white  man  told  me  to  do  —  live  in  peace." 

The  hoar  frosts  of  autumn  had  touched  into  opal  and  orange 
the  leaves  of  the  forest  until  great  banners  of  colour  lined  the 
banks  of  the  swiftly  flowing  Little  Big  Horn;  the  camp  of  the 
last  Great  Indian  Council  lifted  cones  of  white  on  the  edge 
of  these  radiant  trees.  Sombre  winds  uttered  a  melancholy 
note  through  the  dying  reeds  on  the  river  bank,  and  all  of  it 
seemed  a  prelude  to  an  opening  grave,  and  significant  of  the 
closing  words  uttered  to  me  by  Chief  Red  Cloud : 

"My  father,  old  Chief  Red  Cloud,  has  been  a  great  fighter 
against  the  Indians,  and  against  the  white  man,  but  he  learned 
years  ago  to  give  up  his  fighting.  He  is  now  an  old  man, 
ready  to  die,  and  I  am  sorry  that  he  could  not  come  here. 
It  is  now  over  five  years  since  he  gave  me  his  power  and  I 
became  chief,  and  he  and  I  both  are  glad  that  we  are  friends 
to  the  white  man  and  want  to  live  in  peace." 

CHIEF   TWO   MOONS 

Chief  Two  Moons  wears  about  his  neck  an  immense  cluster 
of  bear  claws.  His  arms  are  also  encircled  with  this  same 


122  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

insignia  of  distinction.  Although  he  has  reached  the  age 
of  nearly  threescore  years  and  ten,  his  frame  is  massive  and 
his  posture,  when  standing,  typifies  the  forest  oak.  It  takes 
no  conjuring  of  the  imagination  to  picture  this  stalwart 
leader  of  the  Cheyennes  against  Custer  on  that  fateful  June 
day,  as  suffering  no  loss  in  comparison  with  the  great  generals 
who  led  the  Roman  eagles  to  victory.  Two  Moons  is  now 
nearly  blind;  he  carries  his  coup  stick,  covered  with  a  wolf 
skin,  both  as  a  guide  for  his  footsteps  and  a  badge  of  honour. 
There  is  not  a  tinge  of  gray  in  the  ample  folds  of  his  hair, 
and  his  voice  is  resonant  and  strong.  His  story  of  the  Custer 
fight,  told  for  me  at  the  cross  marking  the  spot  where  Custer 
fell,  to  be  found  in  the  Indians'  story  of  that  battle,  is  both 
thrilling  and  informing. 

Seated  around  the  campfire  in  my  tepee  while  a  cold  rain 
sifted  through  the  canvas,  Two  Moons  became  reminiscent. 
His  mother  and  brother  were  called  Two  Moons,  meaning 
two  months  —  in  the  Indian  tongue,  Ish-hay-nishus.  His 
mind  seemed  to  travel  back  to  his  boyhood  days,  for  he 
started  right  in  by  saying:  "When  a  Cheyenne  boy  wants 
to  marry  a  young  woman  it  takes  a  long  time  for  them  to 
get  acquainted  with  each  other.  When  he  wants  to  marry  a 
girl  or  have  her  for  a  sweetheart  he  tells  another  fellow  with 
whom  he  is  acquainted,  and  who  is  also  acquainted  with  the 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  123 

girl,  and  this  young  man  goes  and  tells  her,  the  same  as  a  white 
man  writes  to  the  young  lady  on  paper.  And  this  Indian 
friend  brings  them  together;  this  Indian  goes  and  tells  the 
girl  that  the  boy  wants  to  be  a  sweetheart  to  her,  and  the 
girl  will  say,  'Well,  I  will  think  it  over.'  And  then  she  thinks 
it  over,  and  finally  says  if  he  comes  to  see  her  some  time  in 
the  day  or  night  then  she  will  believe  that  he  is  a  sweetheart 
of  hers.  So  then  the  young  man  goes  to  the  young  girl,  and 
talks  to  her,  and  they  make  up  their  minds  to  get  married. 
They  get  married  after  this  fashion:  the  young  man  may  go 
to  the  tent  of  the  girl  at  night  and  the  girl  may  come  out,  then 
the  boy  will  take  the  girl  away  to  his  home.  So  then  the 
next  morning  the  young  man's  folks  and  family  bring  their 
presents.  They  take  two  or  three  horses,  good  horses,  and 
load  these  horses  up  with  good  stuff,  clothes,  shawls,  neck 
laces,  bracelets,  and  moccasins.  Then  they  take  the  girl 
back  to  her  home.  The  girl's  family  divides  up  the  presents 
after  they  get  home. 

" There  is  another  way:  When  an  old  man  and  woman 
decide  they  want  a  grandchild,  they  tell  their  son  they  are 
going  to  buy  a  certain  girl  and  he  must  marry  her.  Then 
another  Indian  goes  and  tells  the  girl's  family  that  they  would 
like  to  trade  for  the  girl,  and  if  it  is  all  right  he  goes  back  and 
the  boy's  people  load  up  some  horses  with  goods,  and  take 


124  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

them  over  to  the  girl's  folks.  And  then  they  take  her  back  and 
give  her  to  the  boy's  family.  The  bride  was  bedecked  with 
brass  rings  which  were  taken  from  the  tepee,  but  they  used 
other  rings  for  engagement  rings  after  the  white  man  came." 

In  speaking  of  death,  Two  Moons  said:  "If  the  person 
who  dies  has  a  mother  or  father  or  friend,  they  all  cry,  and 
all  the  things  that  belonged  to  the  boy  they  give  away  to  other 
people.  They  dig  a  grave  in  between  the  rocks  and  put  the 
body  in  the  ground  and  cover  it  up  with  dirt  and  rocks. 
They  always  dig  a  grave  for  a  person  who  dies  whether  they 
have  friends  or  folks.  The  old  people  believed  there  was 
a  man  came  on  earth  here  and  some  of  his  children  had  done 
a  lot  of  crime  and  fooling  with  him,  and  they  talked  of  his 
going  up  to  heaven,  and  living  there  and  looking  down, 
and  that  is  where  we  will  all  go  when  we  die.  Also  the  old 
people  believed  that  that  man  said:  'There  will  be  a  kind  of 
cross  light  up  in  the  sky,  which  will  mark  the  path  for  souls 
on  the  road.'  'High  White  Man'  is  our  name  for  God. 
And  it  was  the  son  of  High  White  Man  who  told  this,  and 
who  created  us  and  made  everything. 

"The  first  time  the  Indian  saw  a  locomotive,  he  called 
it  the  Iron  Horse,  and  the  railroad  was  called  the  Iron  Road. 
The  old  people  first  saw  what  they  called  white  men,  and  they 
called  the  white  man  a  Ground  Man.  I  was  so  young  then  that 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  125 

I  did  not  know  anything  at  that  time.  I  saw  some  men  driving 
an  ox  team,  or  carrying  packs  on  their  backs  and  walking. 
When  I  got  older  most  of  the  people  knew  that  these  white 
men  were  good.  The  first  time  they  saw  a  white  man  they 
called  him  Drive-a- Wagon.  They  did  not  know  what  they 
were  hauling,  but  found  out  afterward  that  it  was  sugar 
and  coffee.  I  remember  how  pleased  I  was  when  I  first  saw 
sugar  and  coffee.  When  I  was  a  boy  the  Indians  used  to 
get  the  grains  of  coffee  and  put  it  in  a  bucket  and  boil  it, 
and  it  would  never  cook  at  all.  Finally  a  white  man  came 
along  and  took  the  coffee  and  put  it  in  a  bucket  and  put  it 
on  the  coals  without  any  water,  and  stirred  it  until  it  turned 
brown,  and  then  he  took  it  off  and  mashed  it  up  between  two 
stones,  and  that  was  how  we  learned  to  make  coffee.  I 
like  it,  and  have  always  liked  it. 

"The  white  man  is  to  blame  for  the  driving  away  of  the  buf 
falo."  (It  will  here  be  observed  that  the  Indian  cannot  talk 
very  long  at  a  time  without  this  ever  recurring  subject  being 
forced  to  the  front.)  "After  the  white  man  had  driven  the 
buffalo  away,  a  great  council  among  the  Indians  was  held; 
all  the  tribes  possible  were  called  to  this  big  council  on  the 
Platte  River.  All  the  different  tribes  were  there.  A  white 
man  came  there  and  brought  a  lot  of  stuff,  such  as  clothes, 
plates,  guns,  coffee  grinders,  knives,  blankets,  and  food,  and 


126  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

gave  them  to  the  Indians.  They  also  brought  shoes.  This 
man  said  that  he  wanted  some  Indians  to  go  to  Washington. 
They  went  down  the  Missouri  River.  They  went  by  ox  team 
from  the  Platte  River  to  the  Missouri,  and  then  by  ship  down 
the  Missouri  River.  These  men  were  gone  to  Washington 
for  a  year;  they  came  back  about  the  middle  of  the  summer. 
The  President  told  the  Indians  they  were  his  grandchildren, 
and  thus  the  Indians  called  the  President  their  grandfather. 
Grandfather  told  them  that  a  white  man  would  come  and 
live  with  them,  and  that  for  fifty-five  years  they  would 
get  clothes  and  food.  I  was  nine  years  old  when  they  held 
the  council  and  ten  years  old  when  they  came  back.  From 
the  time  of  the  council  the  old  people  settled  down  in  the 
Black  Hills  and  in  the  south  and  quit  running  around.  From 
that  time  all  the  Indians  became  friends  of  the  white  man, 
and  the  white  man  bought  the  buffalo  hides  and  other  skins. 
After  they  settled  down  everything  went  along  all  right 
until  I  was  fifteen  years  old,  and  then  the  whites  came  in 
and  there  was  a  fight  between  the  whites  and  Cheyennes 
and  some  other  tribes  of  Indians.  I  do  not  know  what 
happened,  but  some  Cheyennes  went  over  to  the  white  man's 
camp  on  Shell  River,  and  the  white  men  started  to  fire  at 
the  Indians.  That  was  the  cause  of  the  trouble  that  year. 
Later  the  Comanches  and  Apaches  and  Kiowas  fought  among 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  CHIEFS  127 

themselves,  and  came  north  to  fight  the  Cheyennes.  We 
called  them  the  Texas  Indians.  Then  the  wars  between  the 
tribes  and  the  hostilities  between  the  Red  and  White  grew 
less  and  less.  There  was  a  man  named  Honey;  —  the  Indians 
called  him  Bee  —  he  told  the  Cheyennes  they  must  not 
fight.  In  the  numerous  battles  in  which  I  was  engaged  I 
received  many  wounds.  I  was  wounded  by  the  Pawnee 
Indians  in  a  fight  with  them,  by  an  arrow;  wounded  again 
at  Elk  River  in  the  Yellowstone,  when  I  was  shot  through  the 
arm  by  a  Crow  of  the  Big  Horn.  I  was  wounded  again  on 
the  Crow  River  in  Utah  in  a  fight  with  the  United  States 
soldiers,  when  I  was  shot  through  the  thigh.  I  had  my  horse 
shot  through  the  jaw  in  a  fight  with  the  Crows,  but  to-day 
I  am  a  friend  of  all  the  tribes;  once  I  was  their  enemy.  I 
was  told  by  General  Miles  at  Fort  Kearny  that  we  must  not 
fight  any  more,  that  it  was  the  orders  from  Washington. 
I  remember  General  Miles  well.  I  know  him  and  I  am  a 
friend  of  his.  When  General  Miles  told  me  what  I  ought  to 
do,  it  was  just  as  though  he  put  me  in  his  hand  and  showed 
me  the  white  man  and  the  Indian,  and  told  us  we  were  all 
to  be  good  friends,  so  that  is  the  reason  General  Miles'  name 
is  a  great  name  among  the  Cheyennes  as  well  as  the  whites. 
And  your  coming  among  us  is  just  like  General  Miles;  you 
are  helping  the  Indians  and  can  help  them.  They  need  help 


128  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

for  they  are  all  poor.  After  the  Indians  settled  down  and 
General  Miles  had  told  us  what  the  Great  Father  at  Washing 
ton  wanted,  and  after  I  had  succeeded  in  settling  the  Indians, 
the  order  came  from  Washington  that  we  should  take  up 
land  and  call  it  a  claim.  So  I  looked  all  around  for  land  on 
which  to  settle;  then  I  went  over  to  Tongue  River  on  the 
Rosebud  so  that  my  family  and  children  could  be  reared 
and  have  a  home.  All  that  I  have  told  you  is  true.  General 
Miles  told  me  that  when  I  settled  down  and  took  this  land, 
there  might  be  some  people  who  would  come  along  and  try 
to  cheat  us  out  of  our  land,  but  not  to  pay  any  attention 
to  them,  that  it  was  our  land.  There  are  a  great  many  people 
settled  in  Montana  in  the  land  that  belonged  to  the  Indians. 
These  people  are  raising  lots  of  cattle  and  ought  to  be  good 
to  the  Indian.  I  have  been  on  this  land  for  over  twenty 
years,  but  we  are  not  yet  accustomed  to  the  white  man's 
food:  we  love  the  meat  yet,  and  we  long  for  the  buffalo. 
There  is  a  great  deal  of  land  leased  by  cattle  men  in  Montana, 
and  the  money  ought  to  go  to  buy  more  cattle  for  the  Indian, 
and  clothes  for  our  children.  I  like  to  tell  the  truth  just  as 
I  have  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes,  and  I  will  have  another  good 
story  for  you  to-morrow  night.  I  am  getting  old,  but  when 
I  begin  to  talk  about  the  old  times  I  think  I  am  young  again, 
and  that  I  am  the  biggest  of  them  all." 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS 


Too  little  stress  has  been  laid  upon  the  values  accruing  to 
the  safety  and  success  of  the  United  States  troops,  in  their 
warfare  on  the  western  frontier,  from  the  services  of  Indian 
scouts. 

A  wild  and  often  inaccessible  country  to  traverse,  with 
none  of  the  aids  of  electricity  or  modern  travel;  with  difficult 
mountain  ranges  to  climb,  blinding  blizzards  and  insufferable 
cold,  blistering  heat,  and  the  hazards  of  unknown  rivers 
to  cross  through  banks  of  perilous  quicksands;  stupendous 
distances  to  travel,  and  all  the  time  an  alert,  wily,  and  master 
ful  foe  lurking  in  any  one  of  ten  thousand  impregnable  coverts 
—  this  is  a  hint  of  the  scout's  life.  These  brave  and  tireless 
scouts  led  not  to  ambush  but  to  the  advantage  of  our  men 
at  arms.  Estimate  the  bravery,  the  sagacity,  the  persever 
ance,  the  power  of  endurance  displayed  by  these  Indian 
scouts,  and  their  superlative  service  will  call  for  our  patriotic 
gratitude.  No  trial  of  strength  and  endurance,  no  test  of 
bravery,  no  audacity  of  peril,  hindered  or  made  them  afraid. 
They  were  more  important  than  guns  and  munitions  of  war. 
The  Crows  made  the  best  scouts,  for  two  reasons:  They  had 

129 


130  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

never  taken  up  arms  against  the  whites;  all  the  neighbouring 
tribes  battled  against  the  Crows  for  the  conquest  of  their 
land.  The  Crow  scouts,  therefore,  aided  the  United  States 
soldiers  to  conquer  and  drive  out  their  hereditary  foes  that 
they  might  preserve  their  land  and  their  homes.  It  was 
therefore  not  only  a  fight  of  fidelity  and  fealty  but  of  preserva 
tion  —  Nature's  strongest  law. 

Our  story  is  now  concerned  with  the  four  surviving  scouts 
who  led  the  United  States  soldiers  in  many  campaigns  under 
Crook,  Terry,  Miles,  Howard,  and  finally  Custer.  The 
Indians  who  piloted  Long  Hair  to  the  great  Sioux  camp  in 
the  valley  of  the  Little  Big  Horn  —  the  last  day  of  life  for 
Custer,  the  last  contest  at  arms  for  the  Indians  —  are  now 
old  men,  and  their  own  life  record  is  full  of  thrilling  interest. 

WHITE-MAN-RUNS-HIM 

This  red  man  of  the  plains  is  a  veritable  Apollo  Belvedere. 
He  is  pronounced  by  all  ethnologists  as  possessing  a  physique 

hardly  paralleled  by  any  of  the  northern  tribes.     He  fulfills 
i 

in  his  life  the  nobility  of  his  stature.     At  the  age  of  sixty- 
five,  his  figure,  seventy-four  inches  in  height,  stands  unbent  - 
supple  and  graceful.     His  whole  aspect  is  that  of  quiet  dignity, 
his  voice  is  soft  and  musical,  his  eye  is  keen  and  penetrating; 
modestly  and  earnestly  he  describes  his  share  in  the  Custer 


THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS  131 

fight.  He  was  trustworthy  to  the  point  of  death.  Very 
many  times  the  safety  of  an  entire  command  depended  upon 
his  caution  and  sagacity.  He  served  as  scout  under  Terry, 
Crook,  and  Custer. 

While  telling  his  story  he  stood  upright,  lifted  his  hands  full 
length,  which  among  the  Crows  signified  an  oath,  meaning 
that  he  would  tell  the  truth.  His  Indian  boyhood  name  was 
Be-Shay-es-chay-e-coo-sis,  "  White  Buffalo  That  Turns 
Around."  When  he  was  about  ten  years  of  age  his  grandfather 
named  him  after  an  event  in  his  own  father's  life.  A  white 
man  pursued  his  father,  firing  his  gun  above  his  father's  head 
in  order  to  make  him  run.  And  he  was  afterward  called 
"White-Man-Runs-Him." 

Regarding  his  boyhood  days  he  tells  us:  "Until  I  was 
fifteen  years  of  age,  together  with  my  boy  playmates,  we 
trained  with  bows  and  arrows.  We  learned  to  shoot  buffalo 
calves,  and  this  practice  gave  us  training  for  the  warpath. 
It  answered  two  purposes:  protection  and  support.  We  were 
also  taught  the  management  of  horses.  We  early  learned 
how  to  ride  well.  When  the  camp  moved  we  boys  waited 
and  walked  to  the  new  camp  for  exercise,  or  we  hunted  on  the 
way.  We  felt  brave  enough  to  meet  anything.  Thus  it 
was  that  we  roamed  over  the  hills,  and  climbed  the  rocks  in 
search  of  game,  but  we  were  sure  to  arrive  at  the  camp  just 


132  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

in  time  for  the  meal  which  had  been  prepared  by  the  squaws. 
If  on  our  way  to  the  camp  we  came  across  game,  such  as  a 
rabbit,  we  shot  it  with  our  arrows,  broiled  it  and  ate  it  for 
fun.  When  we  got  to  the  new  camp  we  would  all  praise 
one  boy  for  some  deed  that  he  had  performed  on  the  way, 
and  then  we  would  sing  and  dance.  That  boy's  folks  would 
give  all  us  boys  a  dish  of  pemmican  for  the  good  deed  he  had 
performed.  The  little  girls  had  small  tepees.  They  practised 
cooking,  learning  from  the  older  women.  These  girls  would 
serve  delicacies  to  us,  and  we  would  sing  and  dance  around 
their  tepee. 

"When  we  were  quite  small  boys  we  would  go  out  hunting 
horses,  and  bring  back  a  dog  and  call  it  a  horse.  When  we 
made  a  new  camp  we  seldom  stayed  more  than  ten  days. 
In  that  way  our  health  was  sustained  by  travel.  While  we 
were  on  the  move  from  one  camp  to  another,  we  had  to  cross 
wide  streams.  We  boys  would  measure  the  width  of  the  river, 
and  compete  with  each  other  to  see  who  could  swim  across 
without  stopping.  I  am  telling  you  now  what  I  did  to  build 
myself  up  to  be  the  man  I  am  now.  The  boys  who  were  the 
same  age  and  size  as  myself  would  wrestle,  and  if  a  boy  downed 
me  three  or  four  times,  I  kept  up  the  practice  of  wrestling 
until  I  had  more  strength.  Then  I  could  throw  this  boy  and 
I  was  satisfied.  I  selected  a  boy  to  run  a  race;  if  the  boy 


THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS  133 

passed  me,  then  I  made  the  distance  longer,  and  if  he  passed 
me  again,  I  made  the  distance  still  longer,  for  I  knew  that 
I  was  long-winded.  Then  I  won  the  race. 

"Fifteen  or  twenty  of  us  boys  would  go  out  to  the  river, 
and  daub  ourselves  up  with  mud  and  so  disguise  ourselves  that 
no  one  in  the  camp  would  know  us.  Then  we  would  take 
jerked  buffalo  beef  that  the  women  had  hung  up  around  the 
camp  to  dry  and  go  off  out  of  sight  and  have  a  feast.  None 
of  us  was  caught  at  it,  because  they  could  not  tell  one  boy  from 
another.  During  this  time  I  watched  what  old  people  did. 
When  I  came  to  grow  up,  I  went  forth  equipped.  I  always 
had  an  amibition  to  do  more  than  the  best  man  in  the  camp 
could  do.  When  I  went  on  the  chase,  I  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  would  bring  home  a  buffalo  or  I  would  not  go  home. 
And  my  folks  rejoiced,  believing  that  they  had  a  good  boy 
to  help  support  the  family. 

"  We  were  surrounded  by  many  different  tribes,  Shoshones, 
Sioux,  Piegans,  and  Gros  Ventres.  They  were  all  our  enemies. 
We  often  went  on  the  warpath  against  these  people,  because 
they  were  always  trying  to  take  our  horses  and  conquer  our 
land.  When  we  went  on  the  warpath  sometimes  we  would 
stop  and  kill  a  buffalo  and  have  a  feast.  If  we  could,  we 
crawled  up  on  the  enemy's  camp  and  stole  his  horses.  If  we 
met  a  foe  we  tried  to  kill  him  and  bring  his  scalp  home. 


134  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

"Our  custom  of  painting  was  a  sign.  If  in  a  dream  we 
saw  any  one  painted,  that  was  our  medicine.  In  our  dreams 
we  would  see  various  kinds  of  paints  and  how  to  use  them; 
we  would  see  certain  birds  and  feathers,  and  we  adopted, 
this  as  our  style  of  paint.  Others  would  try  to  buy  from  us 
our  style  of  paint.  The  kind  of  paint  and  feathers  we  wore 
made  us  brave  to  do  great  deeds --to  kill  the  enemy  OK 
take  his  horses.  We  did  not  buy  horses,  but  stole  them.  We 
gave  the  horses  to  our  relations.  If  I  got  one  or  more  horses, 
it  represented  so  much  value  to  me,  and  brought  honour  to 
me.  And,  besides,  the  girls  admired  the  man  who  could 
go  out  and  get  horses,  and  in  this  way  we  won  a  wife.  After 
marriage  I  would  sell  a  horse,  buy  elk  teeth,  beaded  leggings, 
and  put  them  on  my  wife  as  a  wedding  present.  Elk  teeth 
and  horses  were  a  sign  of  wealth.  Then  my  wife  would  make 
a  tepee,  and  put  it  up;  then  I  would  settle  down  and  have  a 
home. 

"In  early  days  we  had  nothing  for  clothing  except  the  skins 
of  animals.  We  used  the  buffalo  hide  or  the  deer  hide  for  a 
breechclout.  For  a  bucket  we  used  the  tripe  of  the  buffalo, 
after  thoroughly  cleaning  it.  We  would  hang  it  up  on  the 
branch  of  a  tree,  full  of  water,  and  drink  out  of  it. 

"The  white  people  came  long  before  I  was  born,  but  when 
I  first  remember  the  white  man  I  thought  he  was  very  funny. 


THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS  135 

I  never  knew  of  any  one  person  particularly,  but  I  know  there 
are  good  white  people  and  bad  white  people,  honest  white 
people  and  dishonest  white  people,  true  white  people  and  mean 
white  people.  We  always  take  it  for  granted  that  what  the 
white  people  say  is  true,  but  we  have  found  out  by  experience 
that  they  have  been  dishonest  with  us  and  that  they  have  mis 
treated  us.  Now  wb>en  they  say  anything  we  think  about  it, 
and  sometimes  they  are  true.  I  am  saying  this  about  the 
white  people  in  general. 

"Going  back  to  the  days  when  we  had  no  horses,  we  would 
see  the  buffalo  on  the  plains;  we  then  surrounded  them, 
driving  them  as  we  did  so,  near  to  the  edge  of  some  steep 
precipice.  When  we  got  the  buffalo  up  near  the  edge  of  the 
precipice  we  would  all  wave  our  blankets  and  buffalo  robes 
and  frighten  the  buffalo  and  they  would  run  off  the  steep 
place,  falling  into  the  valley  below,  one  on  top  of  another. 
Of  course  the  undermost  animals  were  killed.  Then  we 
would  go  down  and  get  them  and  take  away  the  meat. 

"The  Indians  found  some  dogs  on  the  prairie.  After 
they  got  the  dogs  they  would  fasten  a  pole  on  either  side  of 
the  dogs  with  a  tanned  hide  fastened  between  the  poles,  and 
the  Indians  would  put  their  trappings,  their  meat,  and  their 
pappooses  on  this  hide  stretched  between  the  poles.  In  that 
way  they  moved  from  place  to  place,  the  dog  carrying  the 


136  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

utensils  of  the  camp.     We  called  it  a  travois.     One  day  when 

we  were  moving,  the  dog  who  was  carrying  a  baby  in  the  travois 

» 

saw  a  deer  and  ran  after  it.  He  went  over  a  bank  and  carried 
the  baby  with  him,  and  finally  came  back  without  the  baby. 
"In  counting  the  dead  on  the  battlefield  we  placed  sticks 
by  the  dead  soldiers  or  Indians,  then  gathered  the  sticks 
up,  took  them  to  one  place  in  a  pile  and  there  counted  the 
sticks.  We  count  by  fixing  events  in  our  mind.  Wre  have  a 
brain  and  a  heart,  and  we  commit  to  memory  an  event, 
and  then  we  say  Chief  So-and-So  died  when  we  broke  camp 
on  the  Big  Horn,  and  So-and-So  were  married  when  we  had 
the  big  buffalo  hunt  in  the  snow.  Or  we  had  a  big  fight  with 
the  Sioux  when  our  tepees  were  placed  in  a  ring  in  the  bend 
of  the  Yellowstone  River.  We  dated  our  time  from  these 
events. 

FOLKLORE   TALE  —  CROW 

"When  I  was  a  little  boy  this  is  a  story  that  was  told  around 
every  campfire:  It  was  called  'Old  Man  Coyote!'  Before 
the  white  man  came  the  coyote  used  to  roam  over  all  the 
land.  The  Old  Man  Coyote  took  the  little  coyotes  he  picked 
up  on  the  prairies  and  called  them  his  little  brothers.  The 
little  coyote  was  such  a  sly  animal  that  the  old  coyote  al 
ways  sent  him  on  errands,  because  he  knew  he  would  always 


THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS  137 

be  up  to  something.  The  Old  Man  Coyote  says:  'We  are 
alone:  let  us  make  man.'  He  said:  'Go  and  bring  me  some 
mud  so  that  I  can  make  a  man,  so  that  we  can  be  together.' 
The  Old  Man  Coyote  took  the  mud  and  put  it  together,  and 
put  hair  on  it,  and  set  it  up  on  the  ground,  and  said:  'There 
is  a  man!'  The  little  coyote  said:  'Make  some  more.'  And 
the  Old  Man  Coyote  made  four  —  two  were  women  and  two 
were  men.  The  Old  Man  sized  them  up  and  said  they  were 
good,  and  so  he  made  a  whole  lot  more.  Old  Man  Coyote 
said:  'It  is  good  that  we  live  together,  and  I  want  you  to 
open  each  other's  eyelids.'  Old  Man  Coyote  said  to  these 
people  whom  he  had  made:  'Now,  if  you  stay  together  and 
are  good  to  each  other,  you  will  be  happy,  and  you  will 
increase  in  numbers.'  Old  Man  Coyote  was  our  creator. 
Old  Man  Coyote  said  to  these  people  whom  he  had  made: 
'This  is  your  land;  live  here,  eat  of  the  fruit  of  the  trees, 
drink  of  the  rivers,  hunt  the  game,  and  have  a  good  time.' 
From  that  we  believe  that  the  white  people  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  land  —  it  belonged  to  the  Indian.  This  story, 
told  to  our  people  so  many  times,  and  told  to  me  since  I  can 
remember,  led  me  to  believe  when  I  came  to  know  and  under 
stand  that  this  land  was  wholly  ours,  and  belonged  entirely 
to  the  Indians.  Old  Man  Coyote,  after  he  had  created  man 
and  woman,  did  not  have  anything  to  do,  so  he  made  a  bow 


138  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

and  arrow.  He  took  the  flint  for  the  arrowhead,  and  with 
it  he  killed  the  buffalo.  Then  he  gave  the  bow  and  arrow 
to  the  Indian  and  said  to  him:  'This  is  your  weapon.'  The 
people  whom  Old  Man  Coyote  created  had  no  knife,  so  he  took 
the  shoulder  blade  of  the  buffalo  and  sharpened  it  and  made  it 
into  a  knife.  These  people  whom  Old  Man  Coyote  had  created 
roamed  round  over  the  land  and  they  found  a  mule.  It  was 
a  great  big  mule  with  great  big  ears,  and  when  they  brought 
it  home  the  people  were  all  afraid  of  it.  They  all  gathered 
around  the  mule,  staring  in  amazement  at  him,  and  said: 
cWhat  kind  of  an  animal  is  this?  It  is  a  dangerous  animal.' 
Just  then  the  mule  stuck  up  his  ears,  and  let  out  an  awful 
cry,  just  such  a  cry  as  only  the  mule  can  make.  Then  the 
people  all  ran  away  as  hard  as  they  could  go,  scared  almost 
to  death,  except  one  Indian,  who  fell  flat  on  the  earth  —  too 
scared  to  run.  And  finally  the  people  called  this  man,  'Not- 
Afraid-of-the-Mule.'  And  in  this  way  we  learned  how  to 
name  our  Indians." 

HAIRY  MOCCASIN 

Isapi-Wishish  is  the  name  the  Indians  called  Hairy  Moc 
casin,  a  scout  under  Gibbon,  Miles,  Howard,  and  Custer. 
His  frame  is  small  and  wiry,  and  like  his  brother  scout, 
Goes- Ahead,  he  too  will  soon  be  numbered  with  the  great 


THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS  139 

army  of  the  dead.  Silent,  unobtrusive,  carrying  no  mark  of 
distinction,  his  moccasined  feet  move  slowly  along  the  path 
made  by  others.  It  must  be  noted  that  however  unpre 
possessing  his  personality  he  wears  an  untarnished  badge  for 
bravery  and  faithful  service  as  a  scout.  White-Man-Runs- 
Him  said:  "I  cannot  say  anything  better  about  Hairy 
Moccasin  than  to  say  that  he  executed  faithfully  the  orders 
of  General  Custer."  He  was  the  boyhood  playmate  of 
White-Man-Runs-Him.  They  were  companions  in  all  the 
sports  and  games  and  tricks  of  the  camp.  When  the  Custer 
scouts  traversed  the  difficult  and  dangerous  route  from  the 
Little  Rosebud  to  the  valley  where  they  located  the  mighty 
camp  of  the  Sioux,  it  was  Hairy  Moccasin  who  under  the 
stars  of  that  June  night  reached  the  apex  of  the  hills  at  dawn. 
The  other  scouts  lay  down  to  rest.  Hairy  Moccasin,  leaving 
the  others  asleep,  went  to  the  summit  —  which  is  called  the 
Crow's  Nest  —  and  as  the  gray  streaks  of  the  dawn  began  to 
silver  the  east,  it  was  Moccasin's  eye  which  caught  the 
vision  of  the  myriads  of  white  tents,  of  the  bro\vn  hills  in  the 
distance  covered  with  brown  horses,  the  curling  smoke  from 
hundreds  of  wigwams.  Word  was  sent  back  to  Custer. 
In  excited  tones,  he  asked:  "Have  you  seen  the  cut-throat 
Sioux?"  From  the  vantage  point  of  the  hills  where  they  had 
seen  the  camp  Hairy  Moccasin  was  sent  still  farther  in  ad- 


140  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

vance  to  reconnoitre.  He  climbed  a  pine-clad  hill,  found 
the  Sioux  everywhere,  and  then  he  rode  back  and  reported 
to  General  Custer  the  size  and  position  of  the  camp.  On 
hearing  the  report  Custer  hurried  up  his  command.  As 
the  brave  general  moved  out  of  the  valley  up  the  ridge  it  is 
the  testimony  of  White-Man-Runs-Him  that  Hairy  Moccasin 
rode  immediately  in  advance  of  Custer,  and  when  the  Chey- 
ennes  came  up,  "He  fired  at  them,  banged  and  banged  at  them, 
and  the  Cheyennes  were  afraid  of  Moccasin.  They  were 
afraid  of  all  three  of  us.  Custer  would  have  been  killed  before 
the  time  he  was  shot  if  it  had  not  been  for  Hairy  Moccasin 
and  myself,  who  were  around  him  shooting  at  the  Indians." 
When  the  United  States  soldiers  were  fighting  the  Nez  Perces 
Hairy  Moccasin  got  a  horse  away  from  the  enemy,  and  brought 
it  into  the  camp  of  the  soldiers.  Hairy  Moccasin  was  always 
on  the  warpath  performing  brave  deeds.  The  name  and 
fame  of  Custer  will  live  in  the  archives  of  his  country,  and 
a  fadeless  lustre  will  forever  crown  the  heroic  deeds  of  this 

Indian  Scout. 

CURLY 

Curly,  a  Reno  Crow,  was  born  on  the  Little  Rosebud, 
Montana,  and  is  fifty-seven  years  of  age.  He  has  the  bearing, 
grace  and  dignity  of  an  orator.  His  name  will  also  go  down 
in  history  as  one  of  the  leading  scouts  who  trailed  for  General 


THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS  141 

Custer  the  Indian  camp,  and  as  the  last  of  his  scouts  on  the 
fated  field  where  Custer  and  his  command  were  slain.  At 
times  he  is  taciturn  and  solemn,  and  then  bubbles  over  with 
mirthfulness.  At  the  council  held  on  the  Crow  Reservation, 
in  October,  1907,  with  reference  to  the  opening  of  unoccupied 
lands,  Curly  uttered  this  eloquent  speech : 

"I  was  a  friend  of  General  Custer.  I  was  one  of  his  scouts, 
and  will  say  a  few  words.  The  Great  Father  in  Washington 
sent  you  here  about  this  land.  The  soil  you  see  is  not  or 
dinary  soil  —  it  is  the  dust  of  the  blood,  the  flesh,  and  bones 
of  our  ancestors.  We  fought  and  bled  and  died  to  keep  other 
Indians  from  taking  it,  and  we  fought  and  bled  and  died 
helping  the  whites.  You  will  have  to  dig  down  through  the 
surface  before  you  can  find  nature's  earth,  as  the  upper 
portion  is  Crow.  The  land,  as  it  is,  is  my  blood  and  my 
dead;  it  is  consecrated,  and  I  do  not  want  to  give  up  any  por 
tion  of  it." 

Accompanied  by  a  group  of  Indians,  Curly  came  to  my  tepee 
when  we  were  camped  on  the  Little  Big  Horn.  The  whole  com 
pany  were  greatly  agitated  because  an  Indian  possessed  with 
the  spirit  of  self-importance  had  gone  to  Washington  to  make 
war  against  other  Indians  in  the  tribe  who  were  industrious 
and  loyal  home  builders.  They  all  made  speeches  around  the 
campfire,  asking  my  interposition  at  Washington.  In  his 


142  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

argument  Curly  said:  "Which  man  would  you  believe,  the 
man  who  is  trying  to  raise  wheat  for  the  people  to  get  flour 
and  bread  from,  oats  to  feed  his  horses,  who  builds  a  house 
for  the  shelter  and  preservation  of  his  family,  builds  a  stable 
in  which  to  shelter  his  horses,  tills  the  soil  to  get  the  product, 
trying  to  raise  vegetables  so  that  his  people  may  have  some 
thing  to  eat  in  summer  and  winter,  or  the  man  who  would  come 
along  and  run  over  this  man  who  was  working  and  trying  to 
do  something  for  his  family,  and  would  not  work  himself, 
but  just  run  around  and  make  a  renegade  of  himself,  quarrel 
ling  with  his  mother  and  brothers --which  man  would  you 
believe?  A  man  who  quarrels  with  his  mother  is  not  fit  for 
any  duty."  Gems  like  these  would  grace  any  brightest 
page  of  literature,  but  they  are  the  everyday  eloquence  of 
the  Indian. 

Curly  said  regarding  his  early  life:  "When  I  was  a  boy 
I  did  not  do  much.  I  was  not  crazy,  but  I  did  not  run  into 
mischief.  My  father  and  mother  always  advised  me  not 
to  get  into  mischief.  My  first  remembrance  of  the  white 
man  was  when  I  took  the  skins  of  buffalo  calves  into  the  trad 
ing  stores  and  traded  with  the  white  man.  I  thought  that 
was  a  great  thing  to  do.  I  had  been  many  times  on  the  trail 
of  the  buffalo  and  had  sought  opportunity  to  go  on  the  war 
path.  When  I  was  about  eighteen  years  old  the  Crow  chiefs 


THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS  143 

made  the  announcement  that  there  were  some  United  States 
officers  in  camp  who  wanted  some  Crow  scouts.  I  quickly 
volunteered.  My  brother  approached  us  after  we  started 
and  took  myself  and  Hairy  Moccasin  and  White  Swan  and 
told  us  that  we  had  a  secret  mission  in  another  district.  My 
brother  was  then  on  the  warpath.  We  went  as  far  with  my 
brother  as  Tongue  River  and  did  not  see  what  we  were  search 
ing  for  and  we  came  back  home.  Then  the  Crow  scouts  left 
the  agency  and  camped  at  Clark's  Ford,  and  Bonnie  Bravo  and 
Little  Face,  Indian  scouts  and  interpreters,  met  us  there. 
These  scouts  took  us  over  to  General  Terry's  camp  again. 
The  scouts  who  were  with  Terry  had  no  horses,  for  the  Sioux 
had  captured  them.  We  had  with  us  eight  horses.  Then  we 
marched  down  as  far  as  the  Little  Rosebud.  There  one  of 
Terry's  officers  told  us  we  were  to  go  out  and  scout  for  the 
Sioux  camp.  We  went  as  far  as  Tongue  River,  and  Bonnie 
Bravo  was  the  first  one  to  discover  the  Sioux  camp.  Then 
we  came  back  to  the  command  and  reported.  General  Terry 
moved  his  cavalry  forward  and  attempted  to  ford  the  Yellow 
stone  River.  The  water  was  so  high  that  many  of  the  men 
and  horses  were  drowned,  and  the  rest  came  back.  Then 
Terry  asked  the  scouts  to  go  forward  again,  and  see  if  the 
camp  was  still  there.  We  found  that  the  camp  had  moved 
from  Tongue  River  up  on  the  Little  Rosebud.  After  that 


144  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

we  reported,  and  General  Terry  did  not  say  very  much. 
General  Terry  then  sent  Bonnie  Bravo  and  the  two  scouts 
back  to  the  camp  to  procure  horses.  They  sent  two  other 
scouts  and  the  army  wagons  to  Crow  Agency  for  provisions. 
The  soldiers  did  not  leave  the  camp  very  far  for  fear  of 
attack  by  the  Sioux,  for  they  kept  close  watch  on  them  con 
stantly,  firing  at  any  soldiers  they  saw.  Then  General  Terry 
sent  me  toward  Crow  Agency  to  meet  the  wagons  and  the 
men  who  were  with  the  horses.  After  we  had  met  the  wagons 
we  stayed  there  all  night  and  then  went  on  to  camp.  Gen 
eral  Terry  then  moved  his  camp,  following  the  Yellowstone 
down.  We  were  taken  clear  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  Pow 
der  River.  White-Man-Runs-Him  and  another  scout  did  not 
have  any  horses,  so  they  got  into  the  boat  and  went  down 
the  river,  bringing  a  dispatch  to  Terry.  The  dispatch  told 
us  to  go  back  and  follow  the  Yellowstone  up  again.  We  went 
back  and  camped  within  ten  or  twelve  miles  of  the  mouth  of 
the  Big  Horn,  near  where  we  had  camped  before.  We  stayed 
there  three  or  four  days,  and  then  a  steamboat  arrived  bring 
ing  Bouyer,  the  scout.  He  told  us  all  to  break  camp.  There 
were  six  of  us  who  did  the  most  of  the  scouting,  and  out  of 
the  six  Terry  told  three  of  us  to  go  and  find  the  enemy's 
camp.  General  Terry  and  the  commander  of  the  infantry 
were  in  the  ambulance,  and  Bouyer  was  there  talking  with 


THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS  145 

them.  Terry  sent  for  Yellow  Shield,  then  Yellow  Shield 
sent  for  me.  Bouyer  then  asked  me  who  among  the  Crow 
scouts  did  the  most  scouting.  I  said  White  Swan,  Hairy 
Moccasin,  and  myself.  These  scouts  then  camp  up  and 
joined  me.  Yellow  Shield  then  told  us  that  he  wanted  six 
men  in  all.  Then  we  had  a  conference.  We  thought  of 
White-Man-Runs-Him,  but  he  had  no  horse.  Then  Yellow 
Shield  said  he  would  call  White-Man-Runs-Him  and  Goes- 
Ahead  to  join  us.  After  they  had  called  these  men  they 
put  us  on  the  steamboat  and  sent  us  down  the  river,  send 
ing  the  other  Crows  home.  We  were  taken  down  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Little  Rosebud  by  the  Yellowstone.  We  were 
told]  after  we  had  had  our  dinner  that  we  must  dress  our 
selves  up  and  paint  up  and  get  ready  to  scout." 

Curly  at  this  point  reaches  the  camp  of  General  Custer, 
and  the  remainder  of  the  fascinating  story  of  this  warrior, 
orator,  and  scout,  who  followed  with  unfailing  fidelity  the 
fortunes  of  the  United  States  soldiers,  will  be  told  in  the  chap 
ter  on  "The  Indians'  Story  of  the  Custer  Fight." 

GOES-AHEAD  —  BASUK-OSE 

Goes-Ahead  carries  about  a  tall,  attenuated,  and  weakened 
frame.  He  is  standing  on  the  verge  of  yonder  land.  He  is 
stricken  with  a  fatal  disease.  In  manner  he  is  as  quiet  and 


146  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

unobtrusive  as  a  brooding  bird.  When  reminiscent  his  wonted 
smile  disappears,  his  eye  lights  up  with  a  strange  mysterious 
fire.  He  talks  straight  on  like  a  man  who  has  something  to 
tell  and  is  eager  to  tell  it.  We  may  gain  better  glimpses  of 
his  life  if  we  let  him  tell  his  own  tale: 

"When  I  was  quite  a  lad  I  went  to  war.  I  was  the  .first  in 
the  battle  and  the  others  all  said:  'There  he  goes  ahead  of  us/ 
I  have  been  first  in  battle  ever  since  and  thus  I  got  my  name, 
Goes-Ahead.  The  greatest  pleasure  I  had  when  I  was  a  boy, 
I  remember,  was  in  killing  wolves.  After  we  had  shot  the 
wolf  we  would  run  up  and  put  our  coup  stick  on  him  and 
play  that  he  was  our  enemy.  Another  sport  we  had  was 
playing  buffalo.  We  divided  up  and  part  of  the  boys  would 
be  buffalo  and  part  would  be  hunters.  The  boys  who  were 
playing  buffalo  would  paw  up  the  dust  and  we  would  run 
after  them  and  shoot  arrows  at  them,  and  then  the  buffalo 
bull  would  chase  us  back  until  he  caught  one  of  the  boys,  then 
we  went  on  until  we  conquered  the  buffalo.  When  I  was  a 
young  man  we  had  buffalo  skulls  with  the  meat  and  skin  all 
taken  off  and  we  would  tie  ropes  to  them  and  put  them  on  the 
ice.  The  girls  would  sit  on  the  buffalo  head  and  we  would 
draw  them  along  the  ice.  That  was  one  of  our  greatest  pleas 
ures.  I  was  about  fifteen  years  old  when  I  first  went  on  the 
war  trail.  It  was  in  the  winter  time  and  I  was  on  foot.  I 


THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS  147 

used  a  bow  and  arrows  and  my  arrows  were  not  very  good. 
The  young  fellows  who  went  with  me  had  old  Springfields, 
using  powder  and  bullets.  We  used  to  make  a  shack  by  the 
edge  of  the  woods,  the  others  would  kill  the  buffalo  and  then 
we  would  roast  the  meat  by  the  fire.  I  used  to  cut  the  buffalo 
meat  in  strips,  and  dried  it,  and  then  put  it  in  sacks  and  carried 
it  along  for  the  war  party.  When  we  made  a  little  log  shelter 
at  night  they  made  me  stay  by  the  door  where  it  was  cold  and 
I  had  to  do  all  the  cooking  for  the  party.  We  had  no  bucket 
with  which  to  carry  water,  so  when  we  killed  a  buffalo  we 
took  the  tripe  and  used  that  for  a  pail  in  which  to  carry  water. 
The  scouts  of  the  war  party  of  course  were  away  ahead  of  us 
and  when  we  made  our  shack  in  the  woods  they  would  return 
at  night.  If  they  returned  singing  we  knew  that  they  had 
buffalo  and  we  would  run  to  get  their  packs.  These  scouts 
got  up  before  daybreak  and  left  the  camp  on  another  scouting 
expedition  —  they  were  looking  for  the  enemy  to  see  which 
way  they  were  moving  or  what  they  had  been  killing.  We 
found  the  trail  by  the  marks  of  their  old  camps.  The  scouts 
trailed  the  enemy  until  they  found  the  camp,  then  they 
returned  howling  like  a  wolf  as  they  came  near  us,  and  then  we 
knew  they  had  found  the  enemy.  When  they  approached 
the  camp  we  made  piles  of  different  material  and  then  they 
shook  their  guns  at  the  piles  and  we  knew  that  they  were 


148  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

telling  the  truth,  that  they  had  seen  the  enemy.  Then  they 
run  over  the  piles.  Then  we  got  ready  for  the  night  and 
stretched  our  ropes;  we  took  our  medicine  and  tied  it  on  our 
heads.  Then  we  all  stood  up  in  a  row  and  they  selected  the 
bravest  to  take  the  lead  to  the  camp  of  the  enemy.  Then 
these  braves  started  on  a  run,  first  on  a  dog  trot  and  then 
faster  and  faster  until  they  got  their  speed,  and  then  we 
endeavoured  to  keep  up  until  we  reached  the  enemy's  camp. 
When  we  got  within  sight  of  the  camp  we  would  all  sit  in  a 
row  and  take  off  our  moccasins  and  put  on  new  ones.  Then 
we  selected  two  men  to  go  around  to  the  camp  and  get  all 
the  horses  they  could  capture  and  bring  them  back  to  our 
party.  \7hen  these  horses  were  caught  and  brought  back 
to  us  we  roped  and  mounted  them  bareback  and  rode  away 
as  fast  as  we  could,  driving  the  remainder  of  the  horses  they 
had  captured.  We  kept  on  for  days  and  nights  without 
anything  to  eat  or  any  rest.  After  we  had  reached  our  camp 
and  had  spent  the  night  we  painted  ourselves  and  the  best 
horses,  mounted  them,  and  started  shooting  guns  in  the  air; 
then  everybody  knew  that  the  war  party  was  back.  We 
rode  through  the  camp  on  our  horses.  We  did  not  expect 
the  enemy  to  pursue  us,  because  we  had  gone  so  far  and  so 
long  that  we  knew  we  were  out  of  their  reach. 

"My  first  battle  was  on  the  Yellowstone  River.     I  rode  a 


THE  SURVIVING  CUSTER  SCOUTS  149 

roan  horse.  I  was  scouting  under  General  Miles.  We  found 
the  trail  of  the  Nez  Perce  Indians.  We  fought  a  battle 
twenty  miles  north  of  where  Billings  is  now  located.  The  Nez 
Perce  chased  the  scouts  back.  Just  at  this  time  our  inter 
preter,  Bethune,  had  quit  riding,  for  his  horse  had  played  out 
and  he  went  on  foot.  Then  many  of  the  Nez  Perce  dismounted 
and  began  to  surround  Bethune  and  open  fire  on  him.  I 
thought  then  his  life  would  be  lost  and  I  rode  back  as  fast 
as  I  could  ride  into  the  midst  of  the  fire,  pulled  him  on  the 
back  of  my  horse  and  rode  away,  saving  his  life." 

In  his  own  words  Goes-Ahead  tells  us  how  he  became  a  scout 
in  the  United  States  Army:  "I  was  a  single  man  and  I  loved 
to  go  on  the  warpath.  The  chiefs  announced  to  all  the  camp 
asking  young  men  to  go  to  the  army  officers  and  enlist  as 
scouts.  As  I  wanted  to  scout  I  obeyed  the  cr  mmand  of  my 
chiefs.  The  army  officers  took  the  names  of  these  young  men. 
The  young  men  whose  names  were  not  taken  were  turned 
back,  but  they  always  took  my  name,  and  that  is  how  I  came 
to  be  a  scout."  Goes- Ahead  tells  for  us  a  most  graphic 
story  of  his  share  in  the  Custer  fight  and  his  impressions 
of  General  Custer  in  the  chapter  on  "The  Indians'  Story  of 
the  Custer  Fight." 


THE  INDIANS'  STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT 


^ 

WE.  ARE  thinking  now  of  the  reddest  chapter  in  the  Indian 
wars  of  the  Western  plains.  Out  amid  the  dirge  of  landscape, 
framed  within  the  valley  of  the  Little  Big  Horn,  where  that 
historic  river  winds  its  tortuous  way  through  the  sagebrush 
and  cactus  of  Montana,  a  weather-beaten  cross  stands  on  a 
lonely  hillside,  surrounded  by  a  cluster  of  white  marble 
slabs,  and  all  marking  the  final  resting-place  of  the  heroes  of 
the  Seventh  United  States  Cavalry,  who  perished  to  a  man, 
"in  battle  formation,"  with  their  intrepid  leader,  Gen. 
George  A.  Custer.  "Custer's  Last  Battle,"  as  chroniclers  of 
Indian  wars  have  designated  that  grim  tragedy,  has  been 
written  about,  speculated  upon,  and  discussed  more  than 
any  other  single  engagement  between  white  troops  and  Indians. 
Volumes  have  already  been  written  and  spoken  on  all  sides 
-the  controversy  still  goes  on.  The  brave  dead  sleep 
on;  they  are  bivouacked  on  Fame's  eternal  camping  ground. 
Civilization  has  irrigated  the  valley  and  swept  on  to  Western 
frontiers,  but  as  though  to  forever  write  laurels  for  the  brow 
of  Custer  —  called  the  Murat  of  the  American  army  —  the 
white  stones  and  the  decaying  crucifix  of  wood  are  surrounded 

150 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  151 

by  barren  bluffs  and  a  landscape  so  forbidding  that  it  is  a 
midnight  of  desolation.  It  seems  to  be  preserved  by  the  God 
of  Battles  as  an  inditement  on  the  landscape  never  to  be 
erased  by  any  human  court  —  lonely,  solemn,  desolate, 
bereaved  of  any  summer  flower,  written  all  over  with  the 
purple  shadows  of  an  endless  Miserere.  Thirty-six  years 
have  run  through  the  hourglass  since  these  dreary  hills  and 
the  flowing  river  listened  to  the  furious  speech  of  rifles  and 
the  warwhoop  of  desperate  redmen.  The  snow^s  have  piled 
high  the  parchment  of  winter  —  a  shroud  for  the  deathless 
dead  —  whiter  than  the  white  slabs.  Summer  has  succeeded 
summer,  and  all  the  June  days  since  that  day  of  terrific 
annihilation  have  poured  their  white  suns  upon  these  white 
milestones  of  the  nation's  destiny — the  only  requiem,  the  winds 
of  winter,  and  in  summer  the  liquid  notes  of  the  meadow  lark. 
In  all  the  argument  and  controversy  that  has  shifted  the 
various  factors  of  the  fight  over  the  checkerboard  of  conten 
tion,  the  voice  of  the  Indian  has  hitherto  been  hopelessly 
silent.  It  is  historically  significant,  therefore,  that  the 
Indian  now  speaks,  and  the  story  of  Ouster's  Last  Battle, 
now  told  for  the  first  time  by  all  four  of  his  scouts,  and  leaders 
of  the  Sioux  and  Cheyennes,  should  mark  an  epoch  in  the 
history  of  this  grim  battle.  The  Indians  who  tell  this  story 
were  all  of  them  members  of  the  last  Great  Indian  Council, 


152  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

and  they  visited  the  Custer  Field  a  little  over  two  miles 
from  the  camp  of  the  chiefs,  traversed  every  step  of  the  en 
sanguined  ground  and  verified  their  positions,  recalling 
the  tragic  scenes  of  June  26,  1876.  It  matters  much  in 
reading  their  story  to  remember  that  all  of  Custer's  command 
were  killed  —  every  lip  was  sealed  in  death  and  the  silence 
is  forever  unbroken.  The  Indian  survivors  are  all  old  men: 
Goes-Ahead  and  Hairy  Moccasin  are  each  on  the  verge  of 
the  grave,  fatally  stricken  by  disease;  Chief  Two  Moons, 
leader  of  the  hostile  Cheyennes,  is  a  blind  old  man;  Runs- 
the-Enemy,  a  Sioux  chief,  totters  with  age.  In  a  near  to 
morrow  they  too  will  sink  into  silence. 

These  four  scouts,  faithful  to  the  memory  of  Custer, 
together  with  the  Sioux  and  Cheyenne  chiefs,  trudged  with 
the  writer  to  stand  on  the  spot  where  Custer  fell,  and  with 
bowed  heads  pay  their  silent  tribute  to  the  dead.  The  camera 
has  recorded  the  scene,  a  last  vision  of  the  red  man  standing 
above  the  grave  of  his  conquerors,  a  pathetic  page  in  the 
last  chapter  of  Indian  warfare. 

THE    STORY    OF    WHITE-MAN-RUNS-HIM —  CUSTER    SCOUT 

The  Great  Father  at  Washington  sent  representatives  out 
to  our  country.  The  Indians  met  them  and  held  a  coun 
cil.  The  Sioux  were  the  hereditary  enemies  of  the  Crows. 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  153 

The  head  man  sent  by  the  Great  Father  said  to  the  Crows: 
"We  must  get  together  and  fight,  and  get  this  land  from  the 
Sioux.  We  must  win  it  by  conquest."  We  called  the  officer, 
who  was  lame,  No-Hip-Bone  —  the  officer  was  General  Terry. 
We  loved  our  land  so  we  consented  to  go  in  with  the  soldiers 
and  put  these  other  tribes  off  the  land.  No-Hip-Bone  took  me 
in  the  winter  time,  and  I  went  with  him  wherever  he  wanted 
me  to  go  until  the  next  summer.  During  this  journey  I  had 
a  good  horse.  The  Sioux  took  it  away  from  me,  and  I  was 
left  to  go  on  foot,  so  I  put  my  gun  on  my  shoulder  and  marched 
with  the  soldiers.  I  thought  that  I  was  a  man,  and  had 
confidence  in  myself  that  I  was  right.  And  so  I  kept  up  with 
the  soldiers.  I  endured  all  the  hardships  the  soldiers  endured 
in  order  to  hold  my  land.  We  had  hardships  climbing  moun 
tains,  fording  rivers,  frost  and  cold  of  winter,  the  burning 
heat  of  summer  —  my  bones  ache  to-day  from  the  exposure, 
but  it  was  all  for  love  of  my  home.  I  stood  faithfully  by  the 
soldiers.  They  did  not  know  the  country.  I  did.  They  wanted 
me  for  their  eye,  they  could  not  see.  The  soldiers  were  the  same 
as  though  they  were  blind,  and  I  used  both  of  my  own  eyes 
for  them.  The  soldiers  and  I  were  fighting  in  friendship,  what 
they  said,  I  did;  what  I  said,  they  did.  So  I  helped  my  tribe. 
Land  is  a  very  valuable  thing,  and  especially  our  land. 
I  knew  the  Cheyennes  and  Sioux  wanted  to  take  it  by  con- 


154  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

quest,  so  I  stayed  with  the  soldiers  to  help  hold  it.  No-Hip- 
Bone  moved  to  Tongue  River  at  the  time  the  leaves  were 
getting  full.  We  heard  that  General  Custer  was  coming  and 
I  and  thirty  soldiers  went  down  the  river  in  boats.  Two 
scouts,  Elk  and  Two-Whistles,  were  with  me.  At  the  junc 
tion  of  the  Yellowstone  with  the  Missouri  River  we  met 
Custer.  I  was  the  first  one  of  the  Crows  to  shake  hands  with 
General  Custer.  He  gripped  me  by  the  hand  tight  and  said: 
"You  are  the  one  I  want  to  see,  and  I  am  glad  that  you  are 
first."  We  went  into  the  steamboat  with  General  Custer, 
and  he  pointed  out  different  places  to  me  as  objects  of  interest. 
I  directed  Custer  up  to  No-Hip-Bone,  who  had  moved  to  the 
mouth  of  the  Little  Rosebud.  They  had  a  council,  Bonnie 
Bravo  was  their  interpreter.  General  Custer  said  to  the 
interpreter,  pointing  to  me:  "This  is  the  kind  of  man  we 
want  for  this  campaign,  and  I  want  some  others  also."  Goes- 
Ahead,  Hairy  Moccasin,  White  Swan,  Paints-His-Face- 
Yellow,  and  Curly  were  chosen.  There  were  six  of  us  al 
together.  The  others  were  sent  back.  We  always  moved 
ahead  of  Custer  —  we  were  his  pilots.  We  always  travelled 
at  night,  climbing  the  mountains  and  wading  the  rivers.  Dur 
ing  the  day  we  made  a  concealed  camp.  We  travelled  in  this 
way  several  days  before  we  reached  the  Sioux  camp.  When 
we  reached  the  top  of  the  Wolf  Mountains  we  saw  the  enemy's 


\ 


rUSTKH          BATTI.  KriKI, 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  155 

camp  near  where  the  Custer  Field  is  at  the  present  time. 
Hairy  Moccasin,  Goes-Ahead,  Curly,  and  myself  saw  the 
camp.  Custer  had  halted  at  the  foot  of  a  mountain,  and 
we  all  went  back  and  told  Custer  that  we  had  seen  a  big  camp, 
and  it  was  close.  Custer  was  rejoiced  and  anxious  to  go 
ahead  and  make  the  battle.  The  sun  was  just  peeping  when 
we  saw  the  camp.  It  was  eight  or  nine  o'clock  when  we 
scouts  all  went  ahead  again.  We  got  close  to  the  place  of 
the  enemy's  camp,  and  Custer  divided  the  scouts,  sent 
some  across  the  river,  and  the  others  remained  on  the  hill. 
In  the  meantime  Custer  had  divided  his  command.  Yellow 
Face  and  White  Swan  went  with  Reno  across  the  river;  Goes- 
Ahead,  Hairy  Moccasin,  Curly,  and  myself  remained  with 
Custer.  Custer  sent  me  to  a  high  knoll.  He  said:  "Go  and 
look  for  me  and  see  where  I  can  make  a  success."  He 
left  it  to  me.  When  I  was  up  there  I  looked  around  and  the 
troops  were  very  close  upon  me,  and  I  motioned  to  them  to 
come  on,  and  we  passed  up  on  to  the  ridge.  The  Indian  scouts 
stood  in  front  of  Custer  and  led  his  men.  We  went  down  to 
the  Little  Horn  until  we  came  to  a  little  coulee,  and  were 
moving  towards  the  enemy's  camp.  We  wanted  to  cross 
the  river  at  that  place.  The  Sioux  fired  at  us.  We  then 
went  up  the  hill  to  the  ridge.  I  was  all  along  the  ridge  where 
the  fight  was  raging.  We  looked  over  the  river,  and  saw 


156  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

Reno  in  his  engagement  with  the  Sioux.  Finally  they 
wiped  out  Reno,  and  he  retreated  to  the  hills.  Custer  and 
all  of  us  got  off  our  horses  here.  At  that  time  the  enemy 
was  surrounding  us.  They  were  banging  away  at  us.  We 
had  a  heavy  skirmish.  Custer  then  came  up  and  said :  "  You 
have  done  your  duty.  You  have  led  me  to  the  enemy's  camp. 
And  now  the  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  obey  my  orders  and  get 
away.'*  Farther  on  up  the  river  was  a  packtrain,  escorted 
by  three  hundred  soldiers,  and  I  made  my  way  to  the  pack- 
train,  and  I  found  the  Indians  there  fighting.  Custer  when  he 
told  me  to  go  said:  "You  go;  I  am  now  going  with  my  boys." 
Had  Custer  not  ordered  me  to  go,  the  people  who  visit  the 
Custer  Field  to-day  would  see  my  name  on  the  monument. 
When  I  got  back  to  the  packtrain,  I  directed  them  back  to 
where  the  old  trenches  are  to-day,  and  where  you  may  still 
see  a  pile  of  bones.  The  Indians  had  killed  all  the  mules 
when  I  got  there.  The  fight  lasted  through  the  whole  of  a 
long,  hot  summer  day.  My  friends,  the  soldiers  who  were 
with  Custer,  were  all  wiped  out.  When  the  sun  went  down 
I  was  about  exhausted  and  I  had  no  clothes  on  save  a  breech- 
clout.  All  the  scouts  were  dressed  like  myself.  When  night 
came  on,  exhausted  as  we  were,  we  scouts  went  down  the 
river  to  meet  No-Hip-Bone.  We  reached  him  early  the 
next  morning.  There  was  a  terrific  rainstorm  all  night  long. 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  157 

I  had  no  clothes  on  and  I  stuck  to  my  wet  horse.  My 
horse  was  so  exhausted  that  he  stumbled  on  through  the 
night,  and  to-day  I  feel  the  effects  of  it.  It  was  my  nature  to 
endure;  from  a  boy  I  had  been  trained  to  endure,  but  as 
strong  as  I  was  it  wounded  me  for  life.  We  met  No-Hip-Bone 
and  told  him  that  up  the  river  yesterday,  when  the  sun  was 
midway  between  morning  and  noon,  until  the  sun  was  mid 
way  between  noon  and  night,  the  Indians  had  killed  Custer 
and  all  of  his  command.  And  he  was  mad.  We  told  him 
that  our  horses'  hoofs  were  worn  out  and  asked  permission  to 
go  back  home  and  get  fresh  horses.  He  said:  :<  Yes,  you  can 
go,  but  come  back.  Meanwhile  I  will  travel  up  the  river  and 
see  the  dead  soldiers."  I  went  to  Pryor,  our  Crow  camp. 

Custer  and  the  soldiers  were  my  friends  and  companions, 
and  I  cried  all  night  long  as  I  rode  through  the  rain  to  tell 
No-Hip-Bone  the  news. 

When  we  were  at  the  Rosebud,  General  Custer  and  his 
staff  held  a  council  as  to  what  we  should  do  when  we  found 
the  enemy's  camp,  as  to  whether  we  should  attack  by  day 
or  night.  I  said  we  had  better  fight  by  night.  Paints-His- 
Face- Yellow  said:  "Let  us  attack  by  day,  so  that  we  can  see 
what  we  are  doing."  I  thought  I  was  laying  a  good  plan 
for  them  but  they  listened  to  Yellow-Face.  General  Custer 
was  a  brave  and  good  man,  a  straightforward  and  honest  man. 


158  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

When  General  Custer  took  me  by  the  hand,  patted  me  on  the 
shoulder,  and  I  looked  him  in  the  face,  I  said:  "There  is  a 
good  general."  If  General  Custer  was  living  to-day,  I 
would  get  better  treatment  than  I  now  receive.  General 
Custer  said:  "Where  does  your  tribe  stay?"  and  I  told 
him  in  the  valley  through  which  Pryor  Creek  runs,  along 
the  Big  Horn  River  at  Lodge  Grass,  and  in  the  valley  of  the 
Little  Horn  —  there  is  my  home.  Custer  said:  "If  I  die, 
you  will  get  this  land  back  and  stay  there,  happy  and 
contented,  and  if  you  die,  you  will  be  buried  on  your  own 
land." 

When  I  joined  General  Custer,  I  had  full  confidence  in 
myself  and  my  ability  to  help  him,  and  for  this  reason  I 
joined  Custer  so  that  I  might  help  hold  my  land  against  our 
enemies,  the  Sioux  and  the  Cheyennes.  After  the  Custer 
battle,  when  we  had  obtained  fresh  horses,  I  took  the  other 
scouts  with  me,  and  we  went  over  the  field  and  looked  at  the 
remains  of  the  dead  soldiers  who  were  my  friends  and  com 
panions.  Knowing  the  country  I  always  directed  General 
Custer  to  the  best  places  to  ford  the  river,  and  the  easiest 
way  to  climb  the  hills,  that  he  might  reach  the  path  of  success. 
After  the  loss  of  my  horse,  I  traveled  on  foot  with  the  soldiers, 
and  was  willing  even  to  go  down  to  death  with  Custer  in 
order  that  I  might  help  him. 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  159 

THE  STORY  OF  CURLY CUSTER  SCOUT 

We  had  been  brought  to  the  Little  Rosebud  down  the 
Yellowstone  by  steamer.  After  we  had  landed  we  were  told 
to  get  dinner,  dress  ourselves,  paint  up,  and  get  ready  to  scout. 
Then  we  heard  that  General  Custer  wanted  to  use  us.  We 
mounted  and  rode  over  to  General  Custer 's  camp.  He  had  a 
big  tent.  We  got  off  at  the  door.  I  was  the  first  to  shake  his 
hand.  I  had  a  dollar  in  my  hand,  and  I  pressed  that  into 
his  hand.  Each  scout  shook  hands  with  him.  When  I  saw 
Custer  sitting  there,  tall  and  slim,  with  broad  shoulders  and 
kind  eyes,  I  said  to  myself:  "There  is  a  kind,  brave,  and 
thinking  man."  The  first  words  that  Custer  uttered  were: 
"I  have  seen  all  the  tribes  but  the  Crows,  and  .now  I  see  them 
for  the  first  time,  and  I  think  they  are  good  and  brave  scouts. 
I  have  some  scouts  here,  but  they  are  worthless.  I  have  heard 
that  the  Crows  are  good  scouts,  and  I  have  sent  for  you  to 
come  to  my  command.  I  have  given  General  Terry  six 
hundred  dollars  for  the  use  of  you  Crow  Indians  as  scouts. 
I  have  called  you  Indians  here  not  to  fight  but  to  trace  the 
enemy  and  tell  me  where  they  are;  I  do  not  want  you  to 
fight.  You  find  the  Indians  and  I  will  do  the  fighting.  With 
all  these  dollars  I  have  given  you  I  want  you  to  go  into  the 
steamboat  and  buy  some  shirts  and  paint.  We  will  leave 
here  in  two  days.  We  will  follow  the  Little  Rosebud  up." 


160  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

That  evening  the  Mandans  danced  with  us,  and  they  gave 
us  some  money.  Then  Custer  said:  "I  think  you  are 
good  Indians.  I  will  have  the  cook  prepare  our  dinner,  and 
you  can  eat  alongside  of  me.  I  will  have  a  tent  put  up  here 
and  you  can  camp  near  me."  Within  two  days  we  started 
on  our  journey.  We  got  on  our  horses  and  started  with 
Custer  up  the  Little  Rosebud.  The  whole  command  were 
with  us\  He  asked  us  where  we  saw  the  last  Sioux  camp  while 
we  were  scouting  for  Terry.  We  told  him  we  would  not  be 
near  there  until  to-morrow.  The  next  morning  we  were  at 
the  place  where  we  saw  the  last  camp  of  the  Sioux.  Then 
we  followed  the  Sioux  trail.  We  found  the  trail,  and  saw 
that  it  forked  on  the  Little  Rosebud  River.  Custer  gave 
orders  for  Goes- Ahead  to  follow  one  trail,  and  for  me  to  follow 
the  other  to  see  which  was  the  largest  camp.  WTe  found  that 
the  trails  came  together  after  a  while  and  that  the  Sioux  were 
all  in  one  camp.  When  we  got  to  the  camp,  we  saw  that  a 
battle  had  been  fought,  for  we  found  the  scalps  and  the  beards 
of  white  men.  We  went  back  that  night  and  reported  to 
Custer.  It  was  pretty  late,  but  Custer's  cook  was  up  and 
had  a  light  in  his  tent.  Then  Custer  told  the  cook  to  give 
the  boys  their  meal.  After  we  got  through  our  supper  we 
went  to  his  tent  as  Custer  wanted  to  see  us.  Wre  took  with 
us  some  of  the  scalps  and  white  men's  beards,  and  showed  them 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  161 

to  Custer.  Then  Custer  asked  us  if  the  camp  separated  or 
came  together,  and  we  told  him  it  came  together.  Then  Custer 
said:  "This  is  the  main  point  —  these  Sioux  have  been 
killing  white  people,  and  I  have  been  sent  here  by  the 
Great  Father  to  conquer  them  and  bring  them  back  to  their 
reservation.  I  am  a  great  chief,  but  I  do  not  know  whether  I 
will  get  through  this  summer  alive  or  dead.  There  will  be 
nothing  more  good  for  the  Sioux  —  if  they  massacre  me,  they 
will  still  suffer,  and  if  they  do  not  kill  me,  they  will  still  suffer 
for  they  have  disobeyed  orders.  I  do  not  know  whether  I 
will  pass  through  this  battle  or  not,  but  if  I  live,  I  will  recom 
mend  you  boys  and  you  will  be  leaders  of  the  Crows.  To 
morrow  I  want  five  of  my  Crow  boys  to  go  on  the  trail." 
We  started  just  before  daybreak.  When  we  started  we  saw 
some  of  the  Mandans  running  round  on  the  top  of  the  hill, 
and  Goes- Ahead  told  me  to  go  back  and  tell  the  command  that 
they  must  not  have  these  Mandans  running  round  over  the 
hills,  but  to  keep  them  down  in  the  valley,  as  we  might  be 
near  tli-e  Sioux  camp  and  would  be  discovered  before  we  knew 
it.  Then  they  ordered  these  Mandans  to  come  down  from 
the  hills  and  stay  down.  When  I  started  back  I  heard  a  howl 
like  a  coyote.  Wrhite  Swan,  Hairy  Moccasin,  Goes-Ahead,  and 
White-Man-Runs-Him  were  coming  in  to  report.  The  Sioux 
had  broken  camp  the  day  before  and  had  camped  above  where 


162  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

their  old  camp  was  on  the  Little  Rosebud.  Custer  told  us 
to  go  on  ahead  and  see  which  way  they  went,  and  we  came  to 
where  they  had  broken  camp.  We  followed  the  trail  until 
we  saw  that  they  had  camped  on  the  Little  Horn,  and  then 
we  noticed  that  the  Sioux  had  gone  toward  the  Little  Horn 
and  we  waited  at  the  head  of  Tallec  Creek  for  the  command 
to  come  up.  The  command  did  not  come  up,  for  they  had 
camped  on  the  Little  Rosebud;  and  we  went  back  to  the  camp. 
Then  the  scouts  had  an  argument,  and  I  went  by  myself  and 
asked  Custer  what  we  should  do.  Custer  asked  me  what  I 
came  back  for.  I  told  him  that  the  trail  of  the  Sioux  had  gone 
to  the  west,  toward  the  Little  Horn,  and  that  I  had  come  back 
for  further  orders.  Then  Custer  told  me  to  get  my  supper, 
and  take  a  lunch  for  the  other  scouts,  and  take  with  me  two 
soldiers  and  go  on  and  camp  on  the  hill  in  sight  of  the  enemy. 
I  was  lying  down  at  daybreak,  half  asleep  -  -  the  boys  said 
they  saw  the  camp  where  the  Sioux  were  located.  I  got  up 
and  saw  them  through  the  smoke.  The  command  came  half 
way  toward  us  and  then  stopped  and  this  officer  who  was  with 
us  wrote  a  message  for  General  Custer,  and  sent  a  Mandan 
scout  back  with  it.  Custer  did  not  wait.  As  soon  as  he  got 
the  message  his  men  moved  on  rapidly  toward  the  Custer 
Field.  Then  Custer  said:  "We  will  charge  upon  them  now  - 
that  settles  their  journey."  Custer  then  gave  the  order  to 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  163 

inspect  their  guns.  Soon  they  started  on  down  the  ridge. 
Custer  told  us  to  go  on  ahead.  We  followed  the  creek  all 
the  way  down.  There  was  half  a  battalion  behind  us.  We 
found  a  tepee  like  the  one  in  which  we  are  now  sitting,  as  we 
\vent  along,  and  found  two  dead  Sioux  inside.  Then  the 
main  command  came  up  to  us.  We  all  stopped  at  the  fork 
of  the  Little  Reno  Creek.  Custer  split  up  his  command  at 
this  point,  and  told  Reno  to  follow  the  creek  down,  which  is 
now  called  Reno  Creek.  Then  we  crossed  over  the  ridge. 
I  came  down  with  Custer  as  far  as  the  creek;  then  he  gave  me 
a  message  to  take  to  Reno.  I  did  not  know  the  import  of 
the  messsage.  I  brought  the  answer  back  from  Reno  to 
Custer.  While  I  was  delivering  the  last  message,  Reno  was 
fighting  his  battle,  but  it  was  not  very  fierce,  and  when  I 
got  to  Custer  with  the  message  he  was  fighting  at  the  mouth 
of  the  creek.  Then  Custer  told  me  to  go  and  save  my  life. 
I  made  a  circle  around,  and  I  found  that  my  ammunition 
was  getting  low.  I  found  a  dead  Sioux.  I  took  his  ammuni 
tion  and  gun  and  horse,  and  got  out.  I  stayed  near  where 
the  dead  Sioux  was  until  the  fight  was  pretty  fierce.  I  went 
up  on  a  high  butte  to  the  east  of  the  battlefield  where  I  could 
see  the  fight.  When  I  got  on  the  high  hill  I  looked  back, 
and  saw  that  Custer  was  the  last  man  to  stand.  After  that 
I  rushed  over  the  hill  and  hid  in  the  brush.  The  next  morning 


164  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

about  five  or  six  o'clock  I  was  at  General  Terry's  camp  and 
reported.  General  Terry  called  his  officers  about  him.  I 
could  not  speak  English  and  there  were  no  interpreters 
there,  so  I  took  the  grass  and  piled  it  all  up  in  a  heap,  then 
I  took  my  fingers  and  scattered  it  wide  apart,  and  attempted 
in  this  way  to  show  General  Terry  that  the  soldiers  were  all 
killed.  Then  General  Terry  gave  me  a  dispatch.  I  was 
very  tired  and  did  not  want  to  go,  but  I  had  to  take  this 
dispatch  from  General  Terry,  to  Reno  at  the  packtrain. 
Reno  gave  me  a  dispatch  to  take  back  to  Terry,  while  they 
were  burying  the  dead  soldiers.  Then  another  dispatch  was 
given  me  to  take  to  the  head  command  at  the  steamboat. 
I  felt  sorry  and  depressed  that  I  should  never  again  see 
Custer. 

THE  STORY  OF  GOES-AHEAD  —  CUSTER  SCOUT 

I  was  under  General  Terry  at  the  Yellowstone  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Big  Horn.  There  was  a  boat  at  the  mouth  of  the  Big 
Horn.  The  steamboat  had  a  pontoon  bridge  reaching  to  the 
shore.  The  soldiers  came  off  the  boat  and  joined  General 
Terry's  command.  Then  General  Terry  gave  the  command 
for  us  all  to  mount  and  go  ahead  of  the  line.  Then  he  se 
lected  men  from  this  line  of  scouts  to  send  to  General  Custer 
as  scouts.  He  mentioned  my  name  and  also  called  Yellow- 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  1C5 

Shield,  White-Man-Runs-Him,  White  Swan,  Hairy  Moccasin, 
and  Curly  out  of  this  line.  There  were  six  of  us.  Then  they 
gave  us  orders  to  go  on  the  steamboat.  We  sailed  down  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Little  Rosebud,  there  we  got  off  the  boat. 
Then  our  interpreter  told  us  there  was  a  man  in  the  camp  of 
the  army  who  wanted  to  see  us,  and  we  went  over  there.  Then 
we  went  into  General  Ouster's  tent;  we  sat  on  one  side  of  the 
tent,  and  that  was  a  day  of  great  pleasure  to  me.  I  saw  that 
General  Custer  was  a  man  of  about  six  feet  two  inches,  slim 
and  well-built,  and  kind-hearted.  He  wore  long  hair.  General 
Custer  told  us  that  he  had  heard  that  the  Crow  Indians  were 
the  bravest  scouts  and  the  best  horsemen  among  all  the  Indians, 
and  that  was  the  reason  he  asked  General  Terry  to  send  us 
to  him.  He  said  he  had  some  Mandan  scouts  but  they  were 
not  going  to  do  any  Indian  scouting  for  "him,  but  would 
remain  in  the  line  and  do  the  cooking  for  the  scouts.  Then 
General  Custer  told  us  he  wanted  us  to  find  the  Sioux  trail 
and  follow  it  until  we  reached  the  Sioux  camp  and  to  report 
to  him  where  they  were.  He  did  not  want  us  to  enter  into 
battle  with  the  Sioux,  but  to  come  back  and  tell  him  the 
location  of  their  camp.  Then  after  he  had  won  the  battle 
he  would  give  us  all  the  Sioux  horses  we  could  drive  home. 
Then  we  scouted  in  search  of  the  Sioux.  We  followed  the 
trail  of  the  Sioux  where  they  had  been  moving,  and  we  got  to 


166  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

where  they  had  camped  on  the  Little  Rosebud.  I  got  to 
the  place  where  they  had  been  camping  just  after  their  fight 
with  General  Crook  at  the  battle  of  the  Little  Rosebud, 
and  they  had  moved  to  the  Little  Horn.  General  Custer 
gave  us  strict  orders  when  we  were  scouting  not  to  mis 
take  the  scouts  of  General  Terry  and  General  Crook  for 
the  other  Indians,  because  we  might  run  across  them  and 
to  be  sure  we  had  seen  the  Sioux.  We  were  two  nights  on 
our  way  before  we  came  upon  the  village.  It  was  located 
on  the  plain  above  where  the  Custer  fight  took  place, 
on  the  banks  of  the  Little  Horn.  I  was  by  myself  and 
after  I  saw  the  village  I  went  back  and  reported  to  General 
Custer  and  he  was  greatly  pleased.  I  always  tried  to  obey 
orders  and  follow  closely  my  instructions.  I  reported  to 
General  Custer  that  it  was  a  pretty  big  village.  Custer  said 
"That  is  just  what  I  am  looking  for;  we  might  just  as  well 
enter  the  battle."  General  Custer  told  me  to  go  ahead  of  his 
column,  and  keep  ahead,  but  not  to  go  too  far  for  fear  the  enemy 
would  capture  me,  and  I  did  what  he  ordered  me  to  do.  Gen 
eral  Custer  marched  his  troops  all  night  up  to  a  point  about 
five  miles  from  where  I  reported  to  him,  and  then  he  divided 
his  command.  Reno  followed  down  the  Reno  Creek,  Custer 
crossed  the  ridge,  going  over  to  the  Medicine  Tail  Creek  which 
runs  into  the  Little  Horn.  There  on  the  creek  General  Custer 


* 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  167 

dismounted,  and  said  prayers  to  the  Heavenly  Father.  Then 
he  rose  and  shook  hands  with  me,  and  said:  "My  scout, 
if  we  win  the  battle,  you  will  be  one  of  the  noted  men  of  the 
Crow  Nation."  In  a  moment  or  two  he  turned  around  again 
and  said  to  me:  "I  have  forgotten  to  tell  you,  you  are  not  to 
fight  in  this  battle,  but  to  go  back  and  save  your  life."  White- 
Man-Runs-Him  and  Hairy  Moccasin  and  Curly  heard  what 
Custer  said.  The  other  two  were  with  Reno.  We  were  in 
sight  of  the  camp  when  Custer  told  us  this.  Reno  had  then 
crossed  the  Little  Horn  with  his  two  Crow  scouts  and  the  rest 
of  the  Mandans.  If  we  had  been  smart  enough  we  would  have 
asked  General  Custer  to  give  us  a  paper  as  a  recommendation, 
but  we  did  not  know  anything  much  in  those  days.  As  we 
stood  looking,  we  saw  Reno  take  his  battle  position  between 
eight  and  nine  o'clock.  Custer  stood  there  a  little  for  we 
expected  all  the  Crow  Creeks,  and  Terry's  command,  to  meet 
us  there  that  day,  and  make  a  battle  that  day.  After  he  said 
this  Custer  started  into  the  battle  and  opened  fire  on  the  camp. 
We  scouts  were  up  on  top  of  the  bluff,  and  we  fired  at  the  camp. 
Hairy  Moccasin  and  White-Man-Runs-Him  were  with  him. 
Curly  I  did  not  see  because  he  carried  the  last  dispatch  to 
Reno.  Although  Custer  had  given  us  command  to  do  no 
fighting,  it  was  impossible  for  us  to  stand  there  on  the  bluff 
and  see  the  soldiers  fighting  and  not  do  something,  so  we  had 


168  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

to  fire.  I  do  not  want  to  make  any  mistake  in  this  story,  and 
I  have  told  you  the  truth.  Reno  took  the  battle.  There  was 
so  much  smoke  and  dust  that  I  could  hardly  tell,  but  Reno  was 
driven  back  by  the  Indians  toward  the  bluff.  In  all  the  valley 
and  woods  there  was  nothing  but  Indians.  Then  I  did  not 
know  which  way  he  went,  for  I  was  fighting  my  own  way. 
Custer  also  opened  fire  just  beyond  the  Medicine  Creek  where 
he  had  crossed.  Soon  after  Reno  opened  fire  Custer  began 
his  fire.  From  there  I  cannot  tell  you.  About  four  or  five 
o'clock  the  packtrain  came  up  and  the  hard  fighting  was  down 
there.  I  went  back  to  the  packtrain  and  helped  fight  a  while 
and  then  I  took  to  the  pine  hills  away  over  to  the  east.  When 
I  heard  that  Custer  had  been  killed  I  said:  "He  is  a  man  to 
fight  the  enemy.  He  loved  to  fight,  but  if  he  fights  and  is 
killed,  he  will  have  to  be  killed." 

THE    STORY    OF    CHIEF    RED    CLOUD OGOLLALA    SIOUX 

I  remember  that  our  camp  was  located  in  the  valley  of  the 
Little  Big  Horn.  As  I  remember  there  were  about  four  thou 
sand  Indians  in  our  camp,  and  about  a  hundred  Sioux  warriors 
in  my  own  band.  There  were  four  or  five  different  sections 
of  the  Sioux  tribe  in  this  fight.  I  remember  that  Rain-in-the- 
Face  and  Sitting-Bull,  Crazy  Horse,  and  Big  Man  were  with 
us  in  the  battle.  We  were  in  our  camp;  there  was  plenty  of 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  169 

buffalo  meat  in  those  days,  and  we  killed  a  good  many.     The 

« 

women  were  drying  the  meat,  and  the  warriors  were  resting. 
Suddenly  we  heard  firing,  and  we  found  out  that  the  soldiers 
were  on  us.  The  women  and  children  were  all  frightened, 
and  started  to  run  across  the  hills,  and  we  men  mounted  our 
horses  and  started  toward  the  enemy.  I  remember  that  we 
pushed  Reno  back  until  he  had  to  cross  the  river,  and  go  up 
against  the  bluffs,  and  then  some  of  our  Sioux  rode  around  the 
hill  to  head  him  off,  and  we  had  him  in  a  pocket.  After  we  had 
killed  many  of  Reno's  men,  Custer  came  along  the  ridge,  and 
we  were  called  off  to  fight  Custer.  We  kept  circling  around 
Custer,  and  as  his  men  came  down  the  ridge  we  shot  them  down. 
And  then  the  rest  dismounted  and  gathered  in  a  bunch,  kneel 
ing  down  and  shooting  from  behind  their  horses.  We  circled 
round  and  round,  firing  into  Custer's  men  until  the  last  man 
was  killed.  I  did  not  see  Custer  fall,  for  all  the  Indians  did 
riot  know  which  was  Custer.  One  reason  why  we  did  not 
scalp  Custer  was  because  the  Indians  and  the  white  soldiers 
were  so  mixed  up  that  it  was  hard  to  distinguish  one  man  from 
another;  and  another  reason  was  because  Custer  was  the 
bravest  man  of  all  and  we  did  not  want  to  touch  him  as  he 
made  the  last  stand.  This  is  also  the  opinion  of  Rain-in-the- 
Face.  Regarding  the  cause  of  the  Custer  fight  I  must  say, 
we  were  pursued  by  the  soldiers,  we  were  on  the  warpath, 


170  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

and  we  were  on  the  warpath  with  the  Crows  and  other  tribes. 

/ 

We  were  trying  to  drive  them  back  from  the  hunting  grounds, 

and  the  soldiers  came  upon  us  and  we  had  to  defend  ourselves. 
I 

We  were  driven  out  of  the  Black  Hills  by  the  men  seeking 

gold,  and  our  game  was  driven  off,  and  we  started  on  our 
journey  in  search  of  game.  Our  children  were  starving, 
and  we  had  to  have  something  to  eat.  There  was  buffalo  in 
that  region  and  we  were  moving,  simply  camping  here  and  there 
and  fighting  our  Indian  enemies  as  we  advanced,  in  order  to 
get  the  game  that  was  in  this  country.  We  fought  this  battle 
from  daylight  up  until  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  all 
of  the  white  men  were  killed.  I  think  that  Custer  was  a  very 
brave  man  to  fight  all  these  Indians  with  his  few  men  from 
daylight  until  the  sun  was  almost  going  down. 

THE   STORY   OF   CHIEF   RUNS-THE-ENEMY  -  -  SIOUX   LEADER 

I  fought  at  the  Custer  fight  with  a  band  of  one  hundred  and 
thirty  Two-Cattle  Sioux  under  me.  With  the  bravery  and 
success  I  had  had  in  former  battles,  I  was  able  to  command 
the  force  at  this  fight.  We  were  encamped  for  two  days  in  the 
valley  of  the  Little  Big  Horn.  The  third  day  we  were  going 
to  break  camp  and  move  farther  along,  but  the  old  men  went 
through  the  camp  saying  they  were  going  to  stay  there  still 
another  day.  After  the  cry  had  gone  through  the  camp  that 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  171 

> 

we  were  to  remain,  the  horses  were  all  turned  loose  and  were 

feeding  on  the  hills  north  and  west  and  south,  and  we  were 
resting  in  the  camp.  Everything  was  quiet.  I  went  over  to 
the  big  tepee  where  there  were  several  leading  men,  and  we 
were  sitting  there  talking  and  smoking.  About  ten  o'clock  a 
band  of  Sioux,  who  had  been  visiting  the  camp  and  had  gone 
home,  came  rushing  back  with  the  tidings  that  the  soldiers 
were  coming.  We  could  hardly  believe  that  the  soldiers  were 
so  near,  and  we  were  not  very  much  depressed  because  of  the 
report  for  two  reasons :  the  soldiers  had  gone  back  to  Wyoming, 
and  we  did  not  think  they  were  near  enough  to  attack  us; 
and  from  the  history  of  all  our  tribe,  away  back  for  generations, 
it  had  never  been  known  that  soldiers  or  Indians  had  attacked 
a  Sioux  camp  in  the  daytime;  they  had  always  waited  for 
night  to  come.  And  still  we  sat  there  smoking.  In  a  short 
time  we  heard  the  report  of  rifles,  and  bullets  whizzed  through 
the  camp  from  the  other  side  of  the  river.  I  left  my  pipe  and 
ran  as  hard  as  I  could,  as  did  all  the  others,  to  our  tents.  As 
I  ran  to  my  tent  there  was  a  scream  ran  through  the  camp: 
:<  The  soldiers  are  here !  The  soldiers  are  here ! "  The  Indians 
who  were  herding  the  horses  on  the  hill  rushed  to  the  camp 
with  the  horses,  and  the  dust  raised  just  like  smoke.  When 
I  got  to  my  tent  the  men  who  were  herding  the  horses  had 
got  the  horses  there,  and  they  were  screaming.  I  grabbed  my 


172  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

gun  and  cartridge  belt,  and  the  noise  and  confusion  was  so 
great  that  we  did  not  know  what  we  were  doing.  The  women 
were  running  to  the  hills,  and  my  heart  was  mad.  The  guns 
were  still  firing  in  the  upper  part  of  the  camp.  I  did  not  have 
time  to  put  on  my  war-bonnet;  I  jumped  on  the  horse  I  had  and 
made  a  pull  for  where  the  firing  was.  The  first  thing  I  saw 
when  I  got  to'  the  battle  line  was  a  horse  with  a  bridle  on  with 
the  lines  hanging  down,  and  a  dead  Sioux.  When  I  got  to  the 
line  of  battle  —  I  thought  I  was  quick,  but  I  found  a  lot  of 
Sioux  already  there  —  they  were  rushing  on  up  the  hill. 
We  were  all  naked,  and  the  soldiers  with  their  pack  saddles 
and  their  uniforms  on  and  their  black  horses  looked  like  great 
big  buffalo.  The  Sioux  were  all  riding  up  the  hill.  We  saw 
one  lone  Indian  on  the  hill  going  down  toward  the  soldiers, 
and  the  river.  We  could  not  see  him  as  he  came  down  the 
hill,  but  we  could  see  the  smoke  coming  from  under  his 
horse's  head,  and  we  all  thought  that  he  was  going  to  make  a 
charge  on  the  soldiers,  and  we  all  charged.  "It  seemed  as 
though  that  one  Indian  had  the  attention  of  all  the  soldiers, 
and  they  were  all  firing  at  him.  When  we  saw  that  the  smoke 
was  all  going  toward  the  soldiers  that  gave  us  a  chance  to 
charge  from  this  side,  and  we  all  made  a  rush.  When  we 
made  the  charge  we  got  them  all  stampeded.  For  smoke  and 
dust  we  could  not  see  the  soldiers  as  they  retreated  toward 


1 


o 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  173 

the  river.  The  Sioux  were  fresh,  and  we  soon  caught  up 
with  them.  We  passed  a  black  man  in  a  soldier's  uniform 
and  we  had  him.  He  turned  on  his  horse  and  shot  an  Indian 
right  through  the  heart.  Then  the  Indians  fired  at  this 
one  man,  and  riddled  his  horse  with  bullets.  His  horse  fell 
over  on  his  back,  and  the  black  man  could  not  get  up.  I 
saw  him  as  I  rode  by.  I  afterward  saw  him  lying  there  dead. 
We  fought  them  until  they  rolled  and  tumbled  and  finally 
had  to  go  into  the  river,  which  was  very  deep.  We  made 
them  cross  the  river.  The  country  around  the  river  in  those 
days  was  very  heavily  wooded.  We  chased  some  of  the 
soldiers  into  the  woods,  and  others  across  the  river  and  up 
the  hill.  I  did  not  know  the  name  of  the  commander  of  the 
soldiers  at  that  time,  but  I  afterward  heard  that  it  was 
Reno.  I  also  heard  afterward  that  they  had  a  big  trial  and 
charged  him  with  being  a  coward,  but  I  praised  him  for 
rushing  into  the  camp.  The  reason  I  praised  him  was  that 
he  only  had  a  few  soldiers  and  our  camp  was  a  great  camp, 
and  he  came  rushing  into  the  camp  with  his  few  soldiers. 
In  all  the  history  of  my  great-grandfather  I  have  never  known 
of  such  an  attack  in  daylight.  After  they  retreated  over 
the  hills  and  we  had  killed  a  large  number  of  them  that  battle 
was  ended.  I  was  at  the  Custer  Battlefield  this  morning, 
and  I  noticed  there  were  no  monuments  up  for  the  soldiers 


174  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

who  fell  on  the  Reno  Field.  As  we  had  finished  with  the 
Reno  battle  and  were  returning  to  camp  we  saw  two  men 
on  the  Reno  Hills  waving  two  blankets  as  hard  as  they  could. 
Two  of  us  rode  over  to  where  they  were,  and  they  yelled  to 
us  that  the  genuine  stuff  was  coming,  and  they  were  going 
to  get  our  women  and  children.  I  went  over  with  the  others 
and  peeped  over  the  hills  and  saw  the  soldiers  advancing. 
As  I  looked  along  the  line  of  the  ridge  they  seemed  to  fill  the 
whole  hill.  It  looked  as  if  there  were  thousands  of  them,  and 
I  thought  we  would  surely  be  beaten.  As  I  returned  I 
saw  hundreds  of  Sioux.  I  looked  into  their  eyes  and  they 
/!  looked  different  —  they  were  filled  with  fear.  I  then  called 
my  own  band  together,  and  I  took  off  the  ribbons  from  my 
hair,  also  my  shirt  and  pants,  and  threw  them  away,  saving 
nothing  but  my  belt  of  cartridges  and  gun.  I  thought  most 
of  the  Sioux  will  fall  to-day:  I  will  fall  with  them.  Just  at 

that  time  Sitting-Bull  made  his  appearance.     He  said,  just 

.  I 

as  though  I  could  hear  him  at  this  moment:  "A  bird,  when 
it  is  on  its  nest,  spreads  its  wings  to  cover  the  nest  and  eggs 
and  protect  them.  It  cannot  use  its  wings  for  defense,  but 
it  can  cackle  and  try  to  drive  away  the  enemy.  We  are  here 
to  protect  our  wives  and  children,  and  we  must  not  let  the 
soldiers  get  them."  He  was  on  a  buckskin  horse,  and  he 
rode  from  one  end  of  the  line  to  the  other,  calling  out:  "Make 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  175 

a  brave  fight!"  We  were  all  hidden  along  the  ridge  of  hills. 
While  Sitting-Bull  was  telling  this  I  looked  up  and  saw  that 
the  Cheyennes  had  made  a  circle  around  Custer  on  the  west, 
north,  and  east  sides,  and  that  left  a  gap  on  the  south  jside 
for  us  to  fill.  We  then  filled  up  the  gap,  and  as  we  did  so  we 
looked  over  to  the  Cheyenne  side,  and  there  was  a  woman 
among  the  Cheyennes  who  was  nearest  the  soldiers  trying  to 
fight  them.  While  Custer  was  all  surrounded,  there  had  been 
no  firing  from  either  side.  The  Sioux  then  made  a  charge 
from  the  rear  side,  shooting  into  the  men,  and  the  shooting 
frightened  the  horses  so  that  they  rushed  upon  the  ridge  and 
many  horses  were  shot.  The  return  fire  was  so  strong  that 
the  Sioux  had  to  retreat  back  over  the  hill  again.  I  left  my 
men  there  and  told  them  to  hold  that  position  and  then  I 
rushed  around  the  hills  and  came  up  to  the  north  end  of  the 
field  near  where  the  monument  now  stands.  And  I  saw 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  Indians  in  the  coulees  all  around. 
The  Indians  dismounted  and  tied  their  horses  in  a  bunch 
and  got  down  into  the  coulees,  shooting 'at  the  soldiers  from 
all  sides.  From  the  point  that  juts  out  just  below  where  the 
monument  stands  about  thirty  of  us  got  through  the  line, 
firing  as  we  went,  and  captured  a  lot  of  Custer's  horses  and 
drove  them  down  to  the  river.  The  horses  were  so  thirsty 
that  the  moment  we  reached  the  river  they  just  stood  and 


176  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

drank  and  drank,  and  that  gave  us  a  chance  to  get  off  our 
horses  and  catch  hold  of  the  bridles.  They  were  all  loaded 
with  shells  and  blankets  and  everything  that  the  soldiers 
carried  with  them.  Just  then  I  returned  to  my  men,  and  the 
soldiers  were  still  on  the  hill  fighting,  with  some  of  their 
horses  near  them.  Just  as  I  got  back  some  of  the  soldiers 
made  a  rush  down  the  ravine  toward  the  river,  and  a  great 
roll  of  smoke  seemed  to  go  down  the  ravine.  This  retreat 
of  the  soldiers  down  the  ravine  was  met  by  the  advance  of  the 
Indians  from  the  river,  and  all  who  were  not  killed  came  back 
again  to  the  hill.  After  the  soldiers  got  back  from  the  hills 
they  made  a  stand  all  in  a  bunch.  Another  charge  was 
made  and  they  retreated  along  the  line  of  the  ridge;  it  looked 
like  a  stampede  of  buffalo.  On  this  retreat  along  the  ridge, 
the  soldiers  were  met  by  my  band  of  Indians  as  well  as  other 
Sioux.  The  soldiers  now  broke  the  line  and  divided,  some 
of  them  going  down  the  eastern  slope  of  the  hill,  and  some  of 
them  going  down  to  the  river.  The  others  came  back  to 
where  the  final  stand  was  made  on  the  hill,  but  they  were 
few  in  number  then.  The  soldiers  then  gathered  in  a  group, 
where  the  monument  now  stands  —  I  visited  the  monument 
to-day  and  confirmed  my  memory  of  it  —  and  then  the 
soldiers  and  Indians  were  all  mixed  up.  You  could  not  tell 
one  from  the  other.  In  this  final  charge  I  took  part  and  when 


•    , 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  177 

the  last  soldier  was  killed  the  smoke  rolled  up  like  a  mountain 
above  our  heads,  and  the  soldiers  were  piled  one  on  top  of 
another,  dead,  and  here  and  there  an  Indian  among  the 
soldiers.  We  were  so  excited  during  the  battle  that  we  killed 
our  own  Indians.  I  saw  one  that  had  been  hit  across  the 
head  with  a  war  axe,  and  others  had  been  hit  with  arrows. 
After  we  were  done,  we  went  back  to  the  camp.  After  the 
onslaught  I  did  not  see  any  soldiers  scalped,  but  I  saw  the 
Indians  piling  up  their  clothes,  and  there  was  shooting  all 
over  the  hill,  for  the  Indians  were  looking  for  the  wounded 
soldiers  and  were  shooting  them  dead.  Just  as  I  got  back 
to  the  camp  I  heard  that  a  packtrain  was  coming  from  over 
the  hills.  I  looked  over  the  hills  and  saw  the  Sioux  and 
Cheyennes  moving  that  way.  I  remained  a  little  while  to 
look  after  my  wife  and  children.  After  I  had  located  my  family 
I  fired  off  my  shells  and  got  a  new  supply  of  ammunition 
and  went  toward  the  packtrain.  When  I  got  over  there  the 
fighting  had  begun.  The  packtrain  had  already  fortified 
itself  by  making  entrenchments.  The  Indians  were  on  the 
outside  firing  into  it,  and  the  soldiers  inside  were  firing  at  the 
Indians.  During  this  last  fight  the  sun  was  getting  low.  After 
it  grew  dark  the  firing  continued;  you  would  see  the  flash  of  the 
guns  in  the  entrenchments.  The  Indians  would  crawl  up  and 
fire  a  flock  of  arrows  into  the  entrenchments  and  then  scatter 


178  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

away.     This  kept  up  all  night.     I  did  not  stay,  but  went  home. 

The  next  morning  I  went  over  there  and  found  that  the 

% 

Indians  still  had  the  packtrain  surrounded  and  the  fight  was 
still  going  on.  We  kept  at  long  range  and  continued  our 
firing.  The  soldiers  were  all  sharpshooters,  and  the  moment 
we  put  our  heads  up  they  fired  at  us  and  nearly  hit  us.  The 
news  went  around  among  all  the  Indians  that  they  were  to 
stay  there,  and  that  all  the  soldiers  in  the  entrenchment 
would  be  so  dry  soon  that  they  would  have  to  get  out  and  we 
would  get  them.  I  cannot  quite  remember,  but  I  think  it  was 
about  noon  —  we  held  them  until  then  —  when  news  came 
from  our  camp  down  on  the  plain  that  there  was  a  big  bunch 
of  soldiers  coming  up  the  river  —  General  Terry  with  his  men. 
As  soon  as  we  heard  this  we  let  the  packtrain  go  and  fled 
back  to  our  camp.  We  at  once  broke  camp  and  fled 
up  the  Little  Big  Horn,  or  Greasy  Creek,  as  it  is  called  by  the 
Indians.  If  it  had  not  been  for  General  Terry  coming  up 
as  he  did  we  would  have  had  that  packtrain,  for  they  were 
all  dry  —  they  had  had  no  water  for  two  days.  After  we 
had  killed  Custer  and  all  his  men  I  did  not  think  very  much 
about  it.  The  soldiers  fired  into  us  first  and  we  returned  the 
fire.  Sitting-Bull  had  talked  to  us  and  all  the  tribes  to  make 
a  brave  fight  and  we  made  it.  When  we  had  killed  all  the 
soldiers  we  felt  that  we  had  done  our  duty,  and  felt  that 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  179 

it  was  a  great  battle  and  not  a  massacre.  With  reference 
to  the  real  reason  for  this  fight  I  may  say  that  the  talk  among 
the  Indians  was  that  they  were  going  to  compel  us  to  stay 
on  the  reservation  and  take  away  from  us  our  country.  Our 
purpose  was  to  move  north  and  go  as  far  north  as  possible 
away  from  the  tribes.  Our  object  was  not  to  fight  the  Crows 
or  any  other  tribe,  but  we  learned  that  the  soldiers  were  getting 
after  us  to  try  to  compel  us  to  go  back  on  the  reservation, 
and  we  were  trying  to  get  away  from  them.  During  the 
Custer  fight  our  tents  were  not  attacked,  but  after  the  battle 
the  women  gathered  up  their  dead  husbands  and  brothers,  and 
laid  them  out  nicely  in  the  tepee,  and  left  them.  I  understand 
that  after  we  had  left  the  tepees  standing,  holding  our  dead, 
the  soldiers  came  and  burned  the  tepees.  According  to  my 
estimate  there  were  about  two  thousand  able-bodied  warriors 
engaged  in  this  fight;  they  were  all  in  good  fighting  order. 
The  guns  and  ammunition  that  we  gathered  from  the  dead 
soldiers  of  Ouster's  command  put  us  in  better  fighting  con 
dition  than  ever  before,  but  the  sentiment  ran  around  among 
the  Indians  that  we  had  killed  enough,  and  we  did  not  want 
to  fight  any  more.  There  has  been  a  good  deal  of  dispute  about 
the  number  of  Indians  killed.  About  the  closest  estimate 
that  we  can  make  is  that  fifty  Sioux  were  killed  in  the  fight, 
and  others  died  a  short  time  afterward  from  their  wounds. 


180  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

THE  STORY  OF  CHIEF  TWO  MOONS — CHEYENNE  LEADER,  AS  TOLD 
WHERE    CUSTER    FELL 

It  was  a  September  day.  The  hoarfrost  had  written  the 
alphabet  of  the  coming  winter  —  there  was  promise  of  snow. 
With  Chief  Two  Moons  and  his  interpreter  we  climbed  the 
dreary  slopes  leading  to  the  monument  and  graves  of  the 
Custer  dead.  Chief  Two  Moons  took  his  position  by  the  stone 
which  reads:  "Brevet  Major  General  George  A.  Custer,  7th 
U.  S.  Cavalry,  fell  here  June  26th,  1876."  A  tiny  flag  waved 
by  this  stone,  marking  the  spot  where  the  hero  made  his  last 
stand.  The  hills  all  about  us  wore  a  sombre  hue;  the  sky 
kept  marriage  bonds  with  the  scene.  Cold,  gray  clouds  hung 
over  the  ridges  along  which  Custer  rode  with  the  daring 
Seventh.  They  draped  the  summits  of  the  Big  Horn  Range  on 
the  far  horizon  in  gray  and  purple.  The  prairie  grass  had  come 
to  the  death  of  the  autumn  and  it  too  creaked  amid  the  stones. 
The  heart  beat  quick  at  the  sight  of  Chief  Two  Moons,  a  tall 
and  stalwart  Roman-faced  Indian,  standing  amid  the  white 
slabs  where  thirty-three  years  before,  clad  in  a  white  shirt,  red 
leggings,  without  war-bonnet,  he  had  ridden  a  white  horse, 
dealing  deathblows  to  the  boys  in  blue,  and  with  these  death 
blows  the  last  great  stand  of  the  Red  Man  against  the  White 
Man.  The  battle  echoes  are  heard  again  as  Two  Moons  tells 
his  story: 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  181 

"Custer  came  up  along  the  ridge  and  across  the  mountains 
from  the  right  of  the  monument.  The  Cheyennes  and  the 
Sioux  came  up  the  coulee  from  the  foot  of  Reno  Hill,  and 
circled  about.  I  led  the  Cheyennes  as  we  came  up.  Custer  v 
marched  up  from  behind  the  ridge  on  which  his  monument 
now  stands,  and  deployed  his  soldiers  along  the  entire  line  of 
the  ridge.  They  rode  over  beyond  where  the  monument  stands 
down  into  the  valley  until  we  could  not  see  them.  The 
Cheyennes  and  the  Sioux  came  up  to  the  right  over  in  the 
valley  of  the  Little  Big  Horn.  Custer  placed  his  men  in  groups 
along  this  ridge.  They  dismounted.  The  men  who  had  dis 
mounted  along  the  ridge  seemed  to  have  let  their  horses  go 
down  the  other  side  of  the  ridge.  Those  who  were  on  the  hill 
where  the  monument  now  stands,  and  where  I  am  now  stand 
ing,  had  gray  horses  and  they  were  all  in  the  open.  The 
Sioux  and  the  Cheyennes  came  up  the  valley  swarming  like 
ants  toward  the  bunch  of  gray  horses  where  Long  Hair  stood. 
I  led  the  Cheyennes  up  the  long  line  of  ridge  from  the  valley 
blocking  the  soldiers,  and  I  called  to  my  Cheyenne  brothers: 
'Come  on,  children;  do  not  be  scared!'  And  they  came 
after  me,  yelling  and  firing.  We  broke  the  line  of  soldiers 
and  went  over  the  ridge.  Another  band  of  Indians  and  Sioux 
came  from  over  beyond  the  ridge,  and  when  I  got  over  there, 
I  got  off  my  white  horse  and  told  my  men  to  wait,  and  we 


182  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

loaded  our  guns  and  fired  into  the  first  troop  which  was  very 
near  us.  At  the  first  volley  the  troop  at  which  we  fired  were 
all  killed.  We  kept  firing  along  the  ridge  on  which  the  troops 
were  stationed  and  kept  advancing.  I  rode  my  horse  back 
along  the  ridge  again  and  called  upon  my  children  to  come  on 
after  me.  Many  of  my  Cheyenne  brothers  were  killed,  and 
I  whipped  up  my  horse  and  told  them  to  come  on,  that  this 
was  the  last  day  they  would  ever  see  their  chief,  and  I  again 
started  for  the  bunch  of  gray  horses  on  the  hilltop.  The 
Indians  followed  me,  yelling  and  firing.  I  could  not  break  the 
line  at  the  bunch  of  gray  horses  and  I  wheeled  and  went  to  the 
left  down  the  valley  with  the  line  of  soldiers  facing  me  as  I 
went,  firing  at  me,  and  all  my  men  firing  at  the  soldiers.  Then 
I  rode  on  up  the  ridge  to  the  left.  I  met  an  Indian  with  a  big 
war-bonnet  on,  and  right  there  I  saw  a  soldier  wounded.  I 
killed  him  and  jumped  off  my  horse  and  scalped  him.  The 
Indian  I  met  was  Black  Bear,  a  Cheyenne.  I  then  rode  down 
the  ridge  and  came  to  a  group  of  four  dead  soldiers;  one  of  them 
had  on  a  red  flannel  shirt,  the  other  three  had  red  stripes  on 
the  arm,  one  had  three  stripes,  the  other  had  three  stripes  and 
a  sword.  They  all  had  on  good  clothes,  and  I  jumped  off  my 
horse  and  took  their  clothes  and  their  guns.  When  I  turned 
back  I  could  not  see  anything  but  soldiers  and  Indians  all 
mixed  up  together.  You  could  hardly  tell  one  from  the  other. 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  183 

As  I  rode  along  the  ridge  I  found  nearly  all  the  soldiers  killed. 
I  again  rode  up  to  the  ridge  along  which  Custer's  troops  had 
been  stationed.  I  found  two  or  three  killed  and  saw  one 
running  away  to  get  on  top  of  the  high  hills  beyond,  and  we 
took  after  him,  and  killed  him. 

"The  whole  valley  was  filled  with  smoke  and  the  bullets  flew 
all  about  us,  making  a  noise  like  bees.  We  could  hardly  hear 
anything  for  the  noise  of  guns.  When  the  guns  were  firing, 
the  Sioux  and  Cheyennes  and  soldiers,  one  falling  one  way  and 
one  falling  another,  together  with  the  noise  of  the  guns,  I  shall 
never  forget.  At  last  we  sa*w  that  Custer  and  his  men  were 
grouped  on  the  side  of  the  hill,  and  we  commenced  to  circle 
round  and  round,  the  Sioux  and  the  Cheyennes,  and  we  all 
poured  in  on  Custer  and  his  men,  firing  into  them  until  the 
last  man  was  shot.  We  then  jumped  off  our  horses,  took  their 
guns,  and  scalped  them. 

"  After  the  fight  was  over  we  gathered  in  the  river  bottom  and 
cut  willow  sticks,  then  some  Indians  were  delegated  to  go  and 
throw  down  a  stick  wherever  they  found  a  dead  soldier,  and 
then  they  were  ordered  to  pick  up  the  sticks  again,  and  in  this 
way  we  counted  the  number  of  dead.  It  was  about  six  times 
we  had  to  cut  willow  sticks,  because  we  kept  finding  men  all 
along  the  ridge.  We  counted  four  hundred  and  eighty-eight 
with  our  sticks  along  the  ridge.  We  were  trying  to  count  the 


184  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

dead  there  in  the  valley  when  General  Terry  came  up  from  the 
other  side,  and  we  fled  away.  After  the  battle  was  over  the 
Indians  made  a  circle  all  over  the  ridges  and  around  through 
the  valley  to  see  if  they  could  find  any  more  soldiers,  as  they 
were  determined  to  kill  every  one.  The  next  morning  after 
the  fight  we  went  up  behind  the  Reno  Field  and  camped  at 
Black  Lodge  River.  We  then  followed  the  Black  Lodge  River 
until  we  came  back  to  the  Little  Big  Hforn  again.  Then  we 
camped  at  the  Little  Big  Horn,  moving  our  camp  constantly, 
fearing  pursuit  by  the  soldiers. 

"Before  the  Custer  fight  we  went  over  on  the  Tongue  River 
and  found  a  camp  of  soldiers.  We  rushed  upon  them  and  took 
all  their  horses  away,  and  the  soldiers  ran  into  the  brush.  We 
knew  there  would  be  other  soldiers  after  us;  we  knew  about 
where  they  were,  and  we  felt  they  would  pursue  us.  At  Pow 
der  River  the  soldiers  attacked  our  camp  and  destroyed  every 
thing,  and  that  made  us  mad.  When  the  soldiers  came  after 
us,  on  the  day  of  the  Custer  fight,  we  were  ready  to  kill  them 
all.  The  soldiers  were  after  us  all  the  time,  and  we  had  to 

fight." 

The  lonely  stretches  of  prairie,  the  lonelier  graves,  the 
pathetic  remnant  of  Red  Men  —  victors  on  this  field  —  the 
hollow  silence  of  these  dreary  hill  slopes,  the  imperishable 
valour  of  two  hundred  and  seventy-seven  men  who  laid  their 


». 


STORY  OF  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  185 

lives  on  a  blood-red  altar,  until  the  one  lone  figure  of  the  great 
captain  lifted  his  unavailing  sword  against  a  howling  horde  of 
savage  warriors  —  glittering  for  a  moment  in  the  June  sun 
light,  then  falling  to  the  earth  baptized  with  blood  —  is  the 
solemn  picture  to  forever  hang  in  the  nation's  gallery  of  battles. 


CONCLUSIONS 

Fair  play  is  an  all  compelling  creed.  Justice  to  the  dead 
is  one  of  the  commandments  in  that  creed.  Let  the  con 
troversy  rage.  Let  the  sword  be  unsheathed  in  the  face 
of  misrepresentation  and  wrong.  General  Custer  was  a 
daring  and  chivalrous  officer.  He  had  won  laurels  on  many 
a  hard  fought  field  under  Southern  skies  —  he  was  a  strategist, 
brave  and  unfaltering.  He  had  served  in  Western  campaigns 
with  distinction  and  success.  He  knew  how  to  deal  with  the 
masterful  generalship  of  his  wily  Indian  foes.  Hitherto  his 
tactics  had  been  victorious.  The  orders  under  which  he  now 
marched  to  battle  were  definite  up  to  a  certain  point  —  then, 
so  the  record  in  the  War  Department  reads  —  he  was  to 
use  his  own  discretion  and  initiative.  He  was  compelled  to 
follow  this  course  —  for  he  marched  over  a  wild  and  trackless 
waste,  far  distant  from  his  base  of  supplies  and  absolutely 
without  means  of  communication  with  headquarters,  and 


186  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

without  ability  to  ascertain  the  movements  of  any  military 
force  in  the  field.  It  is  fair  to  state  that  the  ranking  General 
in  charge  of  this  campaign  against  the  Indians  reposed  this 
confidence  in  General  Custer,  otherwise,  knowing  the  Indian 
as  a  fighter,  knowing  the  character  of  the  desolated  wastes 
of  country  to  traverse  —  the  difficulties  to  be  encountered 
in  the  simple  movement  of  troops  —  the  annihilation  of  any 
body  of  troops,  when  once  they  reached  the  unmapped  plains 
cut  jn  twain  by  gorges  and  piled  high  with  impassable  buttes, 
he  would  have  stultified  himself  had  not  orders  been  given 
allowing  discretion  at  the  moment  of  emergency.  Custer 
was  strong  enough,  brave  enough,  and  sufficiently  masterful 
to  see  and  seize  the  situation.  His  tactics  were  the  tactics 
he  had  previously  and  many  times  employed,  and  always  with 
brilliant  success.  On  this  June  day  he  would  have  led  the 
daring  "Seventh"  to  victory  and  routed,  if  not  conquered,  the 
great  Indian  camp.  He  was  defeated  and  slain  with  his 
entire  command.  They  fell  at  their  posts  in  battle  formation. 
Why?  The  entire  group  of  Indian  warriors  participating 
in  this  grim  battle  all  testify  that  had  Reno  pushed  his  charge 
when  first  he  attacked  the  Indian  camp  that  they  would  have 
fled  in  confusion,  for  the  attack  was  unexpected.  The  Indian 
always  expected  a  night  attack.  They  further  testify  that 
after  Reno  made  his  attack  with  a  portion  of  his  men,  thus 


STORY  OP  THE  CUSTER  FIGHT  187 

depleting  his  effective  fighting  force  by  one  half  and  in  despera 
tion  made  his  bungling  retreat,  had  he  later  come  to  the  aid  of 
Custer  with  the  added  reinforcements  of  Benteen,  French,  and 
Weir,  who  begged  him  to  hear  the  appeal  of  Ouster's  rapid 
volleys,  Custer  would  have  broken  the  Indian  camp.  Reno 
remained  on  the  hill  until  every  gun  was  silent.  Reno  failed. 
Custer  was  slain.  This  conclusion  is  the  voice  of  the  Indian. 


THE  LAST  GREAT  INDIAN  COUNCIL 


KABIBONOK  KA,  the  North  Wind,  came  marching  out  of  the 
caverns  and  snows  of  the  north,  whipping  and  driving  blinding 
gusts  of  rain  and  sleet.  Nee-ba-naw  baigs,  the  Water  Spirits, 
unsealed  their  fountains,  and  the  turbulent  waters  of  the  Little 
Big  Horn  River  rushed  on,  tearing  out  the  banks  along  which  on 
the  plain  were  huddled  the  myriad  tepees  of  the  Indian  camp. 
The  wind  in  the  trees  roared  like  distant  thunder.  The  dogs 
were  crouching  in  any  shelter.  Horses  were  standing  with 
their  backs  to  the  storm,  their  tails  drenched  and  driven 
between  their  legs.  The  flaps  of  the  tepees  were  closed,  and 
the  rawhide  streamers  from  the  poles  cracked  like  the  sharp 
report  of  a  rifle.  The  women  and  children  were  closely  hud 
dled  around  the  lodge  fire.  It  was  the  great  spring  storm,  the 
last  triumphant  blast  of  winter.  Yonder  in  the  centre  of  all 
this  dripping  circle  of  tepees  stood  the  council  lodge.  Inside 
were  gathered  the  great  chief  and  his  medicine  men  and 
warriors.  They  encircled  the  blazing  logs,  heeding  little  the 
melancholy  night  that  kept  tune  with  the  sorrowful  thoughts 
of  their  own  hearts.  The  ashes  had  cooled  in  the  bowl  of  the 
council  pipe,  when,  at  the  head  of  the  circle,  Chief  Plenty 

188 


THE  LAST  GREAT  INDIAN  COUNCIL  189 

Coups,  chief  of  all  the  Crow  Nation,  arose  from  his  blankets, 
laid  down  his  coup  stick,  and  addressed  his  brothers: 

"The  ground  on  which  we  stand  is  sacred  ground.  It  is 
the  dust  and  blood  of  our  ancestors.  On  these  plains  the 
Great  White  Father  at  Washington  sent  his  soldiers  armed 
with  long  knives  and  rifles  to  slay  the  Indian.  Many  of  them 
sleep  on  yonder  hill  where  Pahaska  —  White  Chief  of  the 
Long  Hair  —  so  bravely  fought  and  fell.  A  few  more  passing 
suns  will  see  us  here  no  more,  and  our  dust  and  bones  will 
mingle  with  these  same  prairies.  I  see  as  in  a  vision  the  dying 
spark  of  our  council  fires,  the  ashes  cold  and  white.  I  see  no 
longer  the  curling  smoke  rising  from  our  lodge  poles.  I  hear 
no  longer  the  songs  of  the  women  as  they  prepare  the  meal. 
The  antelope  have  gone;  the  buffalo  wallows  are  empty. 
Only  the  wail  of  the  coyote  is  heard.  The  white  man's  medi 
cine  is  stronger  than  ours;  his  iron  horse  rushes  over  the  buffalo 
trail.  He  talks  to  us  through  his  'whispering  spirit."  (The 
Indian's  name  for  the  telegraph  and  telephone.)  "We  are 
like  birds  with  a  broken  wing.  My  heart  is  cold  within  me. 
My  eyes  are  growing  dim  —  I  am  old.  Before  our  red  brothers 
pass  on  to  the  happy  hunting  ground  let  us  bury  the  toma 
hawk.  Let  us  break  our  arrows.  Let  us  wash  off  our  war 
paint  in  the  river.  And  I  will  instruct  our  medicine  men  to 
tell  the  women  to  prepare  a  great  council  lodge.  I  will  send 


190  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

our  hunters  into  the  hills  and  pines  for  deer.  I  will  send  my 
runners  to  the  lodges  of  the  Blackfeet,  where  in  that  far  north 
flowers  border  the  snow  on  the  hills.  I  will  send  them  across 
the  fiery  desert  to  the  lodges  of  the  Apaches  in  the  south. 
I  will  send  them  east  to  the  lodges  of  the  Sioux,  warriors  who 
have  met  us  in  many  a  hard  battle.  I  will  send  them  to  the 
west,  where  among  the  mountains  dwell  the  Cayuse  and  the 
Umatillas.  I  will  have  the  outliers  build  smoke  signals  on  all 
the  high  hills,  calling  the  chiefs  of  all  the  tribes  together,  that  we 
may  meet  here  as  brothers  and  friends  in  one  great  last  council, 
that  we  may  eat  our  bread  and  meat  together,  and  smoke  the 
council  pipe,  and  say  farewell  as  brothers, never  to  meet  again." 
The  storm  abated.  The  urn  of  the  morning  seemed  over 
turned,  and  the  spices  of  a  new  spring  day,  redolent  with  the 
perfume  of  growing  things,  bright  with  sunshine  and  song  of 
birds,  flowed  over  the  busy  Indian  camp.  Weeks  passed  on. 
Runners  came  into  camp,  rushing  into  the  lodge  of  the  great 
chief,  announcing  the  approach  of  a  procession  of  chiefs  from 
the  north;  other  heralds  told  of  a  great  company  on  the  hills 
coming  from  the  east,  and  from  the  west,  and  warrior  chiefs 
from  the  south  halted  outside  the  camp.  Chiefs  from  all  the 
great  tribes  had  heard  the  call,  had  seen  the  smoke  signal,  and 
now  the  plain  is  full  of  horses  and  gayly  coloured  riders  as  they 
dismount  before  the  council  lodge. 


THE  LAST  GREAT  INDIAN  COUNCIL  191 

A  wonderful  blaze  of  colour  meets  the  eye.  Excitement  and 
interest  fill  the  air  as  these  veterans  of  the  plains  enter  the 
council  lodge.  Chief  Plenty  Coups  then  receives  the  chiefs; 
they  are  greeted  one  by  one  with  a  courtly  and  graceful  dignity. 
When  the  council  had  assembled  Chief  Plenty  Coups  laid  his 
coup  stick  and  pipe  sack  on  the  ground,  and  in  the  sign  lan 
guage  gave  welcome  to  the  chiefs  from  many  lands. 

"I  am  glad  at  heart  to  stand  here  to-day  on  this  Indian 
ground  and  give  a  hearty  welcome  to  all  the  chiefs  assem 
bled  from  the  various  tribes  from  all  over  the  United  States. 
It  is  a  day  of  beauty,  and  bright  sunshine;  it  is  a  glad  day  for 
me.  I  rejoice  that  on  this  happy  day  we  can  all  meet  here 
as  friends,  eat  our  bread  and  meat  in  communion,  smoke  the 
council  pipe,  and  the  pipe  of  peace.  I  am  rejoiced  to  give  you 
all  a  great  heart  of  welcome.  And  then  we  must  say  farewell, 
but  we  go  away  as  friends,  never  to  meet  again.  I  am  glad 
to  have  you  here." 

Then  Chief  Two  Moons,  the  leader  of  the  Cheyennes  in  the 
Custer  fight,  arose  and  shook  hands  with  Chief  Plenty  Coups, 
and  said: 

"This  is  a  glad  day  for  me,  and  I  am  glad  at  heart  that  we 
can  all  meet  as  chiefs  from  the  various  tribes  from  all  over  the 
land.  It  is  a  great  day  for  all  of  us,  because  there  are  no  more 
wars  between  us,  and  we  meet  in  peace  to  hold  this  last  great 


192  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

council  of  the  chiefs,  and  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace.  I  am  glad 
at  heart  that  this  great  picture  is  to  be  made  of  us,  as  we  are 
assembled  here,  because  our  old  chiefs  are  fast  dying  away, 
and  our  old  Indian  customs  soon  will  pass  out  of  sight,  and  the 
coming  generations  will  not  know  anything  about  us,  but  this 
picture  will  cause  us  to  live  all  through  the  years.  And  our 
children  and  their  children  will  reap  the  benefit.  I  am  glad 
we  are  here. " 

Tottering  with  age,  and  nearly  blind,  Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa, 
head  chief  of  the  Umatilla  Indians,  pulled  himself  up  on  his 
walking-stick,  took  Chief  Plenty  Coups  by  the  hand,  and  said : 

"I  have  come  here  to-day  and  am  glad  to  meet  all  the  chiefs 
and  especially  Chief  Plenty  Coups,  chief  of  the  Crow  tribe. 
And  I  am  greatly  satisfied  to  meet  you  all  and  be  at  peace. 
On  this  day  we  meet  as  Indians  and  as  brothers,  and  now  we 
sit  here  on  this  ground  and  smoke  the  peace  pipe.  We  meet 
as  brothers  that  have  been  away  from  one  another  for  many 
years.  Some  of  us  have  never  seen  each  other  before,  and 
to-day  we  meet  and  shake  hands  with  these  chiefs  whom  we 
shall  never  see  again.  Although  these  people  were  our  en 
emies  at  one  time,  to-day  we  are  in  peace,  and  I  think  very 
much  of  this  chief,  and  I  think  very  much  of  all  the  chiefs.  I 
think  it  is  a  great  day  for  all  of  us.  I  cannot  give  you  any 
more  words,  as  I  am  of  old  age." 


THE  LAST  GREAT  INDIAN  COUNCIL  193 

Umapine,  head  chief  of  the  Cayuse  tribe,  wearing  perhaps 
the  finest  regalia  of  any  chief  in  the  council,  with  great  dignity 
and  grace  addressed  Chief  Plenty  Coups: 

"We  all  chiefs  of  different  tribes  meet  here  in  this  country, 
the  country  that  some  of  us  perhaps  will  never  see  any  more. 
I  appreciate  your  kindness  in  greeting  us.  We  all  Indians  are 
in  peace  toward  each  other  as  well  as  toward  our  white  brothers. 
I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you  all.  I  hope  that  we  will  in  the 
future  days  respect  one  another,  also  respect  our  white 
brothers,  because  we  all,  each  one  of  us,  belong  to  the  animal 
kingdom.  This  is  all  to  you,  my  dear  friends;  wishing  you  a 
good  health. " 

Red  Cloud,  head  chief  of  the  Ogallalla  Sioux  Nation,  with 
his  captivating  way,  addressed  Chief  Plenty  Coups : 

"I  stand  here  to-day  to  shake  hands  with  the  chief  of  the 
Crow  Nation,  and  all  the  chiefs  of  the  tribes  assembled  from 
the  various  quarters  of  our  country.  I  stand  here  on  this 
great  plain,  with  the  broad  sunlight  pouring  down  upon  it.  I 
want  you  to  look  me  in  the  face,  and  I  hope  the  Great  Heav 
enly  Father,  who  will  look  down  upon  us,  will  give  all  the 
tribes  His  blessing,  that  we  may  go  forth  in  peace,  and  live  in 
peace  all  our  days,  and  that  He  will  look  down  upon  our 
children  and  finally  lift  us  far  above  this  earth;  and  that  our 
Heavenly  Father  will  look  upon  our  children  as  His  children, 


104  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

that  all  the  tribes  may  be  His  children,  and  as  we  shake  hands 
to-day  upon  this  broad  plain,  we  may  forever  live  in  peace. 
We  have  assembled  here  to-day  as  chiefs  from  all  over  the 
land;  we  eat  the  bread  and  meat  together,  we  smoke  the  pipe 
of  peace,  and  we  shake  the  hand  of  peace.  And  now  we  go 
out  as  one  chief,  and  I  hope  we  shall  be  as  brothers  and  friends 
for  all  our  lives,  and  separate  with  kind  hearts.  I  am  glad 
to-day  as  I  shake  hands  with  my  brothers  and  friends,  al 
though  I  shall  never  see  them  again.  When  the  white  man 
first  came  across  the  ocean,  the  Indian  took  him  by  the  hand 
and  gave  him  welcome.  This  day  makes  me  think  of  that 
time,  and  now  I  say  farewell." 

Mountain  Chief,  head  chief  of  the  Blackfoot  Indians,  per 
haps  the  most  vigorous  talker  in  the  sign  language  in  the 
council,  greeted  Chief  Plenty  Coups  with  these  words: 

"I  have  come  clear  across  the  plains  and  from  behind  the 
distant  mountains  to  meet  these  chiefs  assembled  in  council, 
and  I  am  very  glad  that  I  am  here  to  see  these  Indian  chiefs 
from  all  the  various  tribes,  and  my  heart  is  open  to  you  all  as 
to  my  own  brother.  We  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace  and  take  the 
hand  of  all  the  different  chiefs,  and  I  shall  be  glad  forever,  and 
shall  look  upon  this  as  one  of  the  greatest  days  of  my  life. 
We  separate  from  each  other  in  peace,  and  with  a  kind  heart, 
but  never  to  meet  again. " 


I 


f 

$ 


THE  LAST  GREAT  INDIAN  COUNCIL  195 

Bear  Ghost,  Chief  of  the  Yankton  Sioux,  with  great  calm 
ness  and  deliberation  said : 

"I  am  glad  that  I  am  here  to  shake  the  hand  in  peace  with 
all  the  chiefs  of  the  various  tribes  assembled.  It  is  a  great 
day  for  me,  and  a  great  day  for  us  all.  I  rejoice  that  a  record 
is  to  be  made  of  this  council  that  it  may  live  for  future  genera 
tions.  I  am  glad  that  I  can  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace,  and  that 
with  a  sad  but  satisfied  heart  I  can  say  farewell  to  all  the 
chiefs." 

The  commanding  figure  of  Koon-Kah-Za-Chy,  an  eminent 
Apache  chief,  stood  before  Chief  Plenty  Coups  compelling  the 
attention  of  the  entire  council :  "  As  I  stand  before  you  to-day 
my  mind  runs  over  the  many  fierce  battles  that  my  own  tribe, 
the  Apaches,  have  had  with  the  Kiowas,  Cheyennes,  Sioux, 
and  other  tribes.  Many  of  the  chiefs  present  to-day  I  have 
met  before  on  the  battlefield,  but  my  heart  is  glad  as  I  shake 
hands  with  all  the  chiefs  to  know  that  now  we  are  all  at  peace. 
We  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace.  We  meet  as  friends  and  brothers. 
I  am  glad  to  meet  all  these  chiefs  before  I  die,  in  peace,  as  I 
have  before  met  them  in  war.  It  is  a  great  day  for  me,  for  I 
have  come  far  across  the  plains  of  the  south,  and  I  shall  go 
back  home  carrying  with  me  the  memory  of  this  council,  and 
of  these  chiefs  whom  I  shall  never  see  again.  I  say  farewell ! " 

Curly,  Custer  scout,  advanced  with  great  readiness  and 


196  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

ease,  and  took  the  hand  of  Chief  Plenty  Coups.  According  to 
the  custom  of  the  Crows  he  did  not  lay  down  his  coup  stick, 
but  gestured  with  one  hand.  He  said: 

"Dear  Brother  Plenty  Coups,  I  am  here  to-day  to  greet 
you,  and  to  greet  all  these  other  chiefs,  chiefs  who4;were  once 
my  enemies.  My  heart  goes  out  to  that  great  battlefield  and 
that  great  monument  erected  to  my  dear  Custer,  with  whom, 
and  for  whom,  I  fought.  He  fell  on  yonder  hilltop  almost 
within  reach  of  our  arms  from  this  council  lodge.  And  my 
heart  is  glad  that  I  can  shake  hands  with  these  chiefs,  some  of 
whom  I  fought  against  with  Custer  on  that  great  battlefield. 
I  have  pledged  myself  never  to  lay  aside  this  coup  stick  so 
long  as  the  blood  runs  through  my  fingers,  but  I  have  resolved 
this  day,  as  I  look  into  the  faces  of  these  great  chiefs  who  were 
once  my  enemies,  that  I  will  never  lift  the  coup  stick  again, 
that  I  will  live  as  a  brother  to  all  the  tribes,  and  at  peace  with 
all  men.  I  say  farewell  to  the  chiefs,  a  last,  sad  farewell. " 

After  these  and  other  eminent  chiefs  had  made  reply  to  the 
address  of  welcome  given  by  Chief  Plenty  Coups,  according  to 
Indian  custom  they  were  all  seated  in  rows  on  the  ground  in 
semicircles,  the  more  eminent  chiefs  in  the  first  row,  the  lines 
falling  back  until  they  reached  the  wall  line  of  the  lodge. 
Every  chief  wore  his  full  war  regalia  and  carried  with  him  all 
of  his  ceremonial  and  sacred  insignia.  The  small  army  of 


THE  LAST  GREAT  INDIAN  COUNCIL  197 

coup  sticks,  always  held  aloft,  presented  a  suggestive  picture, 
for  these  coup  sticks  of  the  many  chiefs  from  many  lands  each 
told  a  story  of  struggle  and  achievement,  but  in  the  speeches 
made  by  the  chiefs  each  coup  stick  was  to  become  a  pledge  of 
peace. 

Now,  following  the  ancient  custom,  while  still  seated,  an 
Indian  woman  belonging  to  the  Blackfoot  tribe  ajid  wearing 
the  full  costume  of  her  people,  together  with  two  Cheyenne 
maidens,  dressed  in  the  costume  of  their  particular  tribe,  en 
tered  the  council  lodge  carrying  wooden  bowls  filled  with  meat 
and  bread.  This  they  served  to  the  chiefs  with  a  wooden  fork. 
This  to  them  answered  as  a  ceremony  of  communion.  When 
all  had  partaken,  Chief  Plenty  Coups  took  the  two  long- 
stemmed  pipes  with  red  sandstone  bowls  containing  emblem 
atic  decorations  the  whole  length  of  the  stems  —  pipes  that  had 
been  filled  by  the  medicine  men  and  placed  on  the  ground 
before  the  standing  place  of  the  great  chiefs  in  the  centre  of 
the  lodge.  Chief  Plenty  Coups  then  lighted  one  pipe  and 
passed  it  to  the  chiefs  at  his  left,  and  lighting  the  other  he 
smoked  it  himself  for  the  first,  and  then  passed  it  on  to  the 
right,  each  chief  in  turn  smoking  the  pipe,  then  passing  it 
on  to  his  brother  chief,  until  all  had  smoked  the  council 
pipe.  When  the  pipes  were  returned  to  Chief^  Plenty  Coups 
they  were  again  filled  and  lighted,  smoked  by  the  Great 


198  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

Chief,  and  passed  on  to  the  others.  And  this  became  the 
Pipe  of  Peace. 

These  Indian  councils  were  the  legislative  halls  of  the  tribes; 
thither  all  matters  of  importance  were  brought  by  the  chiefs 
and  the  warriors.  Here  all  tribal  problems  were  discussed. 
Here  the  destiny  of  any  particular  tribe  was  settled.  Here 
the  decision  to  make  war  was  reached.  In  these  council 
lodges,  around  the  blazing  fire,  the  Indians  have  uttered 
speech  more  eloquent  than  a  Pitt  or  a  Chatham  in  St.  Stephens 
or  a  Webster  in  a  Senate  hall,  an  oratory  that  aroused  the  dis 
integrated  Indian  tribes  and  far  separated  clans  into  such  a 
masterful  and  resistf ul  force  that  the  Indian  against  odds  many 
times  mightier  than  himself  has  been  able  to  withstand  the 
aggressions  of  civilization. 

When  questions  of  such  moment  made  the  necessity,  chiefs 
of  all  the  tribes  attended  and  entered  into  solemn  council. 
Then  the  council  meant  war.  The  day  finally  dawned  when 
the  Indian  as  a  race  was  conquered  by  the  white  man.  The 
ranks  of  the  chiefs  became  thinner  and  thinner  until  in  this 
day  only  a  few  of  the  great  warriors  remain.  These  repre 
sentatives  of  former  greatness  and  prowess  gathered  from  their 
peaceful  wigwams  from  many  and  faraway  lands  to  hold 
once  again  and  for  the  last  time  a  council  of  the  old  days.  On 
this  day  the  council  was  for  peace,  and  the  dominant,  resonant 


THE  LAST  GREAT  INDIAN  COUNCIL  199 

note  ringing  through  every  sentiment  uttered;  if  we  did  not 
know  they  were  Indians  and  did  not  know  that  this  was  an 
Indian  council,  we  would  have  said  this  was  a  Peace  Confer 
ence  at  The  Hague. 

To  stand  in  the  presence  of  these  mighty  men  of  the  plains, 
to  witness  their  nobility,  to  listen  to  their  eloquence,  to  think 
with  them  the  mighty  thoughts  of  their  dead  past,  to  watch 
their  solemn  faces,  to  tremble  before  the  dignity  of  their  master 
ful  bearing,  to  cherish  the  thought  of  all  that  they  have  been 
and  all  that  they  might  have  been,  to  realize  that  as  their 
footfalls  leave  this  council  lodge  they  have  turned  their  backs 
on  each  other  forever,  and  that  as  they  mount  their  horses 
and  ride  away  to  their  distant  lodges  they  are  riding  into  the 
sunset  and  are  finally  lost  in  the  purple  mists  of  evening,  is  to 
make  the  coldest  page  of  history  burn  with  an  altar  fire  that 
shall  never  go  out. 


INDIAN  IMPRESSIONS  OF  THE  LAST 
GREAT  COUNCIL 

To  THE  student  of  Indian  affairs  it  might  at  first  seem  that  the 
gathering  of  the  great  chiefs  from  all  the  Indian  tribes,  wearing 
war-shirt  and  war-bonnet,  carrying  their  coup  sticks,  toma 
hawks,  spears,  bows  and  arrows,  guns  and  tom-toms,  would 
necessarily  reemphasize  to  the  Indian  the  glory  of  his  former 
prestige,  and  this  impression  would  gather  such  momentum 
that  deleterious  results  would  follow;  but  an  alert  and  studious 
effort  was  always  manifest  to  inculcate  in  the  Indian  mind  that 
this  last  great  council  of  the  chiefs  had  for  its  dominant  idea 
the  welfare  of  the  Indian,  that  he  should  live  at  peace  with  his 
fellows  and  all  men,  and  the  making  of  a  lasting  historic  record 
of  the  fast-fading  manners  and  customs  of  the  North  American 
Indian.  This  paramount  idea  gained  such  fast  hold  of  the 
Indian  mind  that  the  council  became  not  only  a  place  of  historic 
record  but  a  school  for  the  inculcation  of  the  highest  ideals 
of  peace.  That  the  lesson  was  well  taught  and  well  learned 
becomes  strikingly  evident  in  the  peace  sentiments  of  the 
chiefs  expressed  in  their  speeches  at  the  council,  and  their 
impressions  of  the  council  now  to  follow: 

CHIEF  PLENTY  COUPS:     I  have  a  very  glad  heart  to-day 

200 


THE  LAST  GREAT  COUNCIL  201 

Because  it  has  been  my  privilege  to  welcome  the  chiefs  from 
all  the  great  tribes,  all  over  the  United  States,  here  on  these 
beautiful  plains  of  Montana.  I  am  rejoiced  that  on  this  day 
of  beauty  and  bright  sunshine  we  could  meet  together.  I  am 
glad  to  welcome  as  my  guests  Indian  chiefs  whom  I  have  never 
seen,  and  that  I  could  give  them  a  welcome  with  my  heart 
open,  eat  with  them  bread  and  meat,  and  smoke  the  pipe  of 
peace,  and  greet  all  the  chiefs  as  brothers.  As  the  bright  sun 
has  opened  upon  us,  Doctor  Dixon  has  met  us  all  in  peace  and 
friendliness  and  we  all  feel  toward  him  with  a  kind  heart.  His 
coming  has  brought  about  the  coming  of  the  chiefs  whom  I 
have  never  seen  before  and  will  never  see  again,  and  as  the 
chief  of  the  Crow  Nation  I  am  rejoiced  to  give  him  and  all  these 
chiefs  a  great  heart  of  welcome,  and  send  them  away  in  peace, 
and  I  feel  that  they  are  all  like  my  own  brothers.  During  my 
life  from  my  early  days  I  have  fought  the  other  nations  before 
the  white  man  ever  stepped  into  this  country,  then  the  Great 
Father  ordered  that  we  should  stop  fighting  and  live  in  peace. 
Before  this  we  conquered  each  other's  horses  and  killed  on  all 
sides.  And  now  to-day  we  have  met  in  this  great  council  as 
chiefs  and  friends.  The  Great  Father  is  good  to  us  again  in 
permitting  us  to  have  this  meeting,  and  I  look  upon  all  these 
chiefs  and  all  the  tribes  as  my  friends.  And  as  the  bright  sun 
shine  falls,  I  pray  that  our  Heavenly  Father  may  let  His  bless- 


202  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

ing  come  down  upon  all  the  chiefs  and  all  the  tribes,  and  that 
we  may  go  forth  from  this  great  day  happy  and  in  peace.  In 
former  days  we  were  in  ceaseless  conflict;  then  Uncle  Sam  came 
to  us  and  said  we  must  live  in  peace.  And  since  that  time  we 
have  had  allotments  of  land,  schools  have  been  built  for  the 
education  of  our  children,  and  as  an  illustration  of  the  feelings 
of  my  heart  to-day  -  -  the  tribes  have  all  met  here  and  we 
have  met  in  peace,  and  have  met  as  one  man.  We  are  all  as 
brothers  —  the  tobacco  of  all  the  tribes  is  as  the  tobacco  of  one 
man,  and  we  have  all  smoked  the  pipe  of  peace  together.  Out 
of  the  struggle  of  these  old  days  we  have  come  into  the  calm 
and  serene  light  of  such  a  day  as  this.  This  I  consider  to  be 
the  greatest  event  of  my  life,  and  my  country  I  shall  live  for, 
and  my  country  shall  remain  in  peace,  as  I  feel  peaceful  toward 
my  country. 

CURLY:  Since  my  boyhood  days  I  have  never  seen  any 
thing  so  great.  We  have  seen  here  the  chiefs  from  all  over 
the  United  States.  It  was  wonderful.  You  are  the  first  man 
that  ever  brought  such  a  thing  to  pass.  I  enjoyed  it  very 
much  more  than  I  can  tell.  The  thought  of  this  thing  was  a 
great  thought,  one  of  the  greatest  thoughts  of  our  time.  Many 
of  our  Indians  have  gone  to  Washington,  and  have  seen  the 
Great  White  Father,  and  have  seen  great  things.  These  Indian 
chiefs  have  all  been  brought  here  so  that  we  could  see  them  and 


THE  LAST  GREAT  COUNCIL  203 

talk  with  them  by  the  sign  language,  and  I  think  it  is  most 
wonderful. 

CHIEF  RED  WHIP:  I  think  this  is  a  great  idea.  I  am  glad 
to  meet  the  chiefs  of  all  the  tribes.  I  have  never  seen  them 
before.  It  will  not  be  long  until  all  these  big  chiefs  are  dead, 
and  the  younger  generation  will  read  the  history  of  these  chiefs 
and  see  these  pictures,  and  I  am  glad  the  record  is  being  made. 

CHIEF  KOON-KAH-ZA-CHY:  I  never  before  have  seen  so 
many  chiefs  meet  together.  I  have  met  a  great  many  chiefs 
here  whom  I  have  never  seen  before.  When  I  was  asked 
to  come  here  I  heard  it  was  for  the  purpose  of  making  a  record, 
and  to  me  the  thought  was  good.  I  am  sorry  in  my  heart  that 
I  must  say  farewell  to  all  these  chiefs. 

CHIEF  RUNNING  BIRD:  I  am  sixty  years  old,  and  when  I 
came  to  this  ground  it  was  ground  I  had  never  seen  before  in 
my  life.  I  met  the  chiefs  whom  T.  had  never  seen  before.  I 
had  heard  of  them  but  had  not  seen  them.  I  was  very  glad 
to  come  here  and  see  the  old-time  tepees,  the  kind  of  tepees 
our  fathers  used  to  live  in.  I  grew  up  to  manhood  myself  in 
this  kind  of  a  tepee,  and  I  had  good  health.  Now  w*hen  they 
give  us  a  house  to  live  in  I  am  not  healthy  at  all.  I  am  getting 
old  now,  and  am  getting  up  in  years,  and  all  I  wish  now  at  the 
present  time  is  that  my  children  shall  grow  up  industrious  and 
work,  because  they  cannot  get  honour  in  the  war  as  I  used  to 


204  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

get  it  —  they  can  only  get  honour  now  by  working  kard. 
I  can  only  teach  my  children  that  the  way  to  get  honour  is  to 
go  to  work,  a*nd  be  good  men  and  women.  These  impressions 
have  been  strengthened  by  this  council.  I  shall  go  home  and 
tell  the  other  Indians  and  our  agent  about  the  council,  for  the 
meeting  of  the  chiefs  will  always  live  in  my  memory. 

CHIEF  BRAVE  BEAR:  The  meeting  of  all  the  chiefs,  my 
friends  and  those  who  are  strangers  to  me,  makes  my  heart 
feel  high.  I  think  of  this  and  when  I  get  back  I  shall  still 
think  of  it,  and  it  will  be  just  as  though  I  was  here.  I  will 
never  forget  these  men  sitting  here  as  my  friends,  as  long  as 
I  live.  We  have  been  treated  kindly  and  this  I  shall  never 
forget.  I  would  like  a  nice  little  story  of  this  meeting  so  that 
I  can  show  it  to  my  friends. 

CHIEF  UMAPINE:  I  have  come  from  the  far  distant  moun 
tains  of  Oregon  to  meet  the  chiefs  in  council.  I  cannot  under 
stand  their  language;  I  can  only  talk  to  them  in  signs,  but  I 
have  great  respect  for  them.  We  each  have  two  hands,  two 
feet,  tw*o  eyes,  two  ears,  but  one  nose,  one  mou£h,  one  head,  and 
one  heart.  We  all  breathe  the  same  air;  we  are  all,  therefore, 
brothers.  On  my  journey  to  this  land,  where  in  former  years 
I  have  chased  the  buffalo  and  fought  the  hostile  Sioux  who 
came  to  steal  our  horses  and  women,  I  saw  the  old  buffalo 
trails  where  these  great  beasts  used  to  march  in  single  file,  each 


THE  LAST  GREAT  COUNCIL  205 

walking  in  the  footsteps  of  the  other  until  they  had  worn  deep 
their  trail.  The  snows  of  many  winters  have  cut  the  trail 
deep  like  an  irrigating  ditch,  and  when  I  thought  of  the  buffalo 
I  cried  in  my  heart.  I  have  taken  these  great  chiefs  by  the 
hand,  I  have  been  glad  to  meet  them;  I  must  now  say  farewell 
forever,  and  my  heart  is  more  lonely  than  when  I  think  of  the 
buffalo. 

CHIEF  TiN-TiN-MEET-SA:  My  idea  of  this  meeting  is  that 
we  are  doing  a  great  thing.  I  am  of  old  age  and  I  feel  strange 
to  these  people  whom  I  have  met  here  at  this  place  for  the  first 
time.  I  know  that  after  this  meeting  is  over  we  will  all  of  us 
go  back  to  our  own  country,  probably  never  to  see  one  another 
again,  or  talk  any  more  to  each  other.  The  man  who  was  sent 
here  to  do  this  work  has  been  very  kind  to  the  Indians  and  is  a 
fit  man  to  do  this  kind  of  work.  The  work  he  is  doing  is  one 
of  the  greatest  works  that  has  ever  been  done.  The  record 
here  made  will  not  perish.  We  will  soon  all  be  gone,  but  the 
record  will  last.  I  have  no  hard  feelings  toward  any  one  in 
this  camp,  and  I  am  only  worrying  about  my  hay  at  home. 

CHIEF  PRETTY  VOICE  EAGLE:  The  meeting  of  the  chiefs  is 
to  me  a  great  thing  in  many  ways.  First:  I  was  glad  to  come 
here  and  meet  the  chiefs  from  all  over  the  country,  and  see 
many  whom  I  had  never  seen  before,  and  talk  to  them  by  sign 
language.  It  is  a  great  sign  to  me  that  we  have  all  met  here, 


206  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

met  in  peace.  We  had  this  feeling  before  we  came,  but  now 
that  we  are  here  and  can  see  each  other  face  to  face,  the  feeling 
has  grown.  Second:  it  is  a  great  idea  that  has  been  thought 
of  to  send  a  man  here  to  take  our  speeches  and  make  our 
pictures,  a"nd  think  over  and  talk  over  the  old  times,  and  make 
a  record  of  them.  To  me  this  is  a  great  accomplishment. 
It  is  a  great  accomplishment  in  this  way:  we  cannot  go  to 
Washington;  we  cannot  present  ourselves  there,  but  the 
pictures  and  the  record  will  be  preserved  there  and  in  great 
cities,  to  speak  for  us.  I  want  to  draw  a  little  ^lustration. 
You  speak  a  language  that  we  know  nothing  about.  With 
the  help  of  your  people  you  have  educated  the  younger  element 
and  through  them  we  can  speak  to  you,  and  the  different  inter 
preters  can  speak  for  the  different  tribes  to  you,  and  thus  we 
can  all  talk  with  you  and  tell  our  story.  I  want  to  point  out 
in  this  way  the  difference  between  the  old  people  and  the  young 
people.  The  illustration  I  have  given  seems  to  me  like  a 
dream.  I  can  see  the  advancement  our  race  has  made  thus 
far.  Our  race  is  constantly  changing,  and  this  meeting  will 
be  a  great  memory  to  all  the  Indians  represented  here.  This 
meeting  means  a  great  deal  to  my  tribe.  One  great  feeling 
of  gratefulness  I  have  about  this  meeting  is  that  I  hope  that 
my  grandchildren  and  their  grandchildren  will  read  the 
speeches  I  have  made  here,  and  will  see  my  pictures. 


THE  LAST  GREAT  COUNCIL  207 

CHIEF  RUNNING  FISHER:  I  think  there  is  a  great  idea  back 
of  calling  the  chiefs  together,  because  there  will  be  something 
left  of  us  when  we  are  all  gone.  This  record  and  pictures  will 
live  when  we  are  all  dead.  I  am  glad  to  have  had  this  privilege 
of  meeting  all  these  chiefs  from  all  the  tribes.  I  feel  sad  at 
the  thought  of  not  meeting  these  chiefs  again,  for  I  would 
like  to  meet  them  all  once  more,  but  I  feel  pretty  sure  we  will 
never  meet  again. 

Chief  Running  Fisher  died  within  two  weeks  after  reaching 
home  from  the  council. 

CHIEF  BULL-DON'T-FALL-DOWN:  This  meeting  of  the 
great  chiefs  in  council  I  consider  one  of  the  great  events  of  my 
life.  Chiefs  from  all  over  the  United  States  have  come  here, 
chiefs  whom  I  have  never  seen  before  and  whom  I  will  never  see 
again.  We  have  had  an  opportunity  to  see  their  faces,  shake 
hands  with  them,  and  talk  with  them  in  the  sign  language. 
Since  the  great  council  of  the  chiefs  on  the  Platte  River  in  1867} 
we  have  not  seen  any  of  their  faces  until  this  day.  Then  we 
were  on  the  warpath  —  at  this  council  we  meet  in  peace. 
I  was  one  of  the  first  Crow  Indians  to  make  peace  with  the 
Sioux  after  we  had  been  on  the  warpath,  and  now  I  can  say 
farewell  to  all  the  chiefs  with  peace  in  my  heart  for  all  men. 

CHIEF  Two  MOONS:    I  feel  that  I  am  engaging  in  a  great 


208  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

work  in  helping  to  make  this  historic  picture  of  a  great  Indian 
council.  I  have  led  the  Cheyennes  in  so  many  battles,  and  my 
life  has  been  so  full,  that  I  felt  when  I  came  here  that  I  was  an 
old  man,  but  since  meeting  the  chiefs  and  having  a  share  in  the 
great  council  and  recalling  my  old  life  for  this  record,  I  feel 
like  a  young  man  again.  It  is  a  great  day  for  all  of  us,  because 
there  are  no  more  wars  between  us,  and  we  meet  in  peace  and 
hold  this  great  council  of  the  chiefs  and  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace. 
I  am  glad  at  heart  that  this  great  picture  is  to  be  made  of  us, 
as  we  are  assembled  here,  because  our  old  chiefs  are  fast  dying 
away,  and  our  old  Indian  customs  soon  will  pass  out  of  sight. 
This  record  will  survive  for  our  children,  and  their  children 
will  reap  the  benefit.  I  am  glad  we  are  here,  but  my  heart  is 
sorry  to  say  farewell. 

CHIEF  RED  CLOUD:  I  think  this  a  great  and  good  thing. 
Good  things  have  come  to  us  from  the  white  man.  When  the 
white  man  came  across  the  ocean  we  heard  he  was  coming 
because  there  was  land  over  here,  and  he  brought  us  food  to 
eat.  The  coming  of  this  man  to  make  these  pictures,  to  be 
preserved  in  Washington  and  to  be  shown  in  great  cities,  means 
good  to  us,  because  the  generations  to  come  will  know  of  our 
manners  and  customs.  It  is  good,  besides,  to  meet  all  these 
chiefs  who  are  as  brothers  to  one  another.  We  have  never 
met  them  before;  we  shall  never  see  their  faces  again,  and  it  is, 


THE  LAST  GREAT  COUNCIL  209 

therefore,  I  think,  a  great  and  good  thing  to  have  this  last 
council  of  the  chiefs. 

MOUNTAIN  CHIEF:  I  think  it  was  one  of  the  greatest  things 
that  ever  happened  when  we  had  this  great  council.  It  will 
be  remembered  forever.  As  for  myself,  it  will  not  be  very  long 
until  I  go  to  the  happy  hunting  grounds,  but  I  have  left  this 
record  for  the  coming  generations.  While  I  was  sitting  in  the 
council  I  was  thinking  of  the  past  when  we  used  not  to  see 
each  other's  faces,  except  with  the  firing  of  guns,  and  now  we 
have  met  the  different  tribes  in  council  to  talk  with  one 
another  in  the  sign  language.  It  shows  that  the  Government 
is  greater  than  the  Indian.  I  think  it  was  a  great  thing  to 
bring  these  chiefs  together,  and  so  long  as  I  live  I  am  going  to 
tell  this  story  to  my  children  and  my  grandchildren.  I  think 
that  Chief  Two  Moons  and  Chief  Plenty  Coups  were  the  two 
greatest  men  in  the  council.  They  impressed  me  more  than 
any  others  by  their  appearance.  Two  Moons  was  not  dressed 
up,  but  he  showed  that  he  was  a  man.  I  feel  as  I  sit  talking 
here  with  you  that  we  are  brothers  together.  And  I  say 
farewell  to  all  the  chiefs  with  a  sad  heart. 

CHIEF  WHITE  HORSE:  This  council  of  all  the  chiefs  seems 
to  me  to  be  a  wonderful  idea.  I  have  met  a  good  many  whom 
I  have  never  seen  before,  and  it  was  a  great  surprise  to  me,  and 
my  heart  felt  glad.  These  different  tribes  of  Indians  have  been 


210  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

enemies  to  each  other  for  generations  back,  but  we  have  now 
been  at  peace  with  each  other  for  many  years.  But  now  we  all 
meet  here  and  see  each  other.  I  think  your  idea  of  taking 
notes  and  making  a  record  of  our  lives  and  taking  pictures  of 
us,  of  our  Indian  costumes  and  our  manners,  is  a  great  thing. 
I  am  old  enough  now  and  do  not  expect  to  live  very  long,  but 
I  am  very  glad  that  this  record  is  to  be  made,  and  put  on  file 
in  the  Great  Father's  house  at  Washington.  Another  thing 
I  would  like  to  say:  we  all  speak  different  languages,  and  we  are 
all  as  helpless  as  a  child,  and  we  want  you  to  help  us  in  our 
needs  during  our  last  days.  My  trip  here  was  the  first  time 
I  have  ever  been  on  an  iron  horse,  and  there  are  a  great  many 
lessons  that  I  learned  from  my  ride  here.  When  I  came  here 
and  saw  all  the  Indians  speaking  different  languages  and 
looking  different,  and  I  saw  all  that  was  going  on  and  heard 
their  jspeeches  by  sign  language,  I  thought  it  was  one  of  the 
most  important  events  in  my  life.  The  first  lesson  I  got 
while  riding  on  the  iron  horse  was  to  see  the  coaches  filled  with 
white  people,  and  when  I  went  in  they  all  looked  at  me  and 
looked  as  though  I  was  a  great  curiosity  to  them.  When  I 
first  saw  the  white  people  I  felt  backward  —  they  looked  at  me 
so  hard.  I  felt  backward,  but  I  finally  felt  more  at  ease,  for 
I  thought,  I  am  going  to  die  anyway.  I  looked  over  the  white 
people  and  their  dress,  and  I  looked  over  the  ceiling  of  the 


THE  LAST  GREAT  COUNCIL 

coach,  and  I  thought  these  are  all  wonderful  things.  I  looked 
out  of  the  window  and  the  train  was  going  so  fast  that  it 
seemed  to  me  I  was  on  the  wings  of  a  great  bird.  We  travelled 
so  fast  I  could  not  see  the  things  very  near  the  coach.  When 
we  used  to  travel  on  our  ponies  it  took  us  many  days  to  come 
over  to  this  place.  But  on  the  train  it  took  us  one  half  day 
to  come  to  Miles  City,  and  that  was  one  of  the  things  that 
made  me  fear.  It  seems  impossible  how  the  trains  go  so  fast, 
and  this  thought  came  to  my  mind:  This  is  of  the  white 
people,  who  are  so  educated  they  can  make  the  iron  horse  draw 
things  across  the  country  so  fast.  My  wish  is  that  the  Indians 
will  come  to  be  like  the  white  people,  and  be  able  to  invent 
things,  but  the  thought  comes  to  me  that  this  will  be  impossible. 
As  we  came  along,  flying  as  a  bird,  I  looked  out  of  the  window, 
saw  a  country  over  which  I  had  once  hunted,  and  the  thought 
of  the  buffalo  came  back  to  me,  and  I  cried  in  my  heart. 
When  I  get  home  I  expect  to  stay  there,  and  never  leave  my 
country  again.  I  shall  never  see  this  land  any  more.  I 
expect  to  die  at  home.  When  I  get  home  I  shall  tell  my  people 
of  the  journey  I  had  on  the  train,  and  what  I  saw,  and  of  my 
visit  to  this  great  country,  of  the  speeches  that  we  made,  of  the 
pictures  that  were  taken,  and  I  know  when  I  tell  them  they 
will  be  glad. 


THE  FAREWELL  OF  THE  CHIEFS 


WE  ARE  standing  at  the  centre  of  a  mighty  circumference. 
An  Indian  world  revolves  for  the  last  time  upon  its  axis.  All 
the  constellations  which  gave  it  light  have  burned  out.  The 
Indian  cosmos  sweeps  a  dead  thing  amid  the  growing  lustre 
of  the  unfading  stars  of  civilization  and  history.  The  solemn 
hour  passes,  unmarked  by  any  cataclysm  of  nature  —  volcano 
and  earthquake  utter  no  speech  • —  darkness  and  tempest  rend 
no  veil  of  this  crumbling  life  temple.  In  the  deepening  twi 
light  all  is  silent  —  all  speech  is  vulgar.  To  utter  a  word  here 
would  be  profanation.  The  remnant  of  a  race  have  gathered 
for  shelter  within  the  sacred  walls  of  their  council  lodge.  The 
ashes  of  the  council  pipe  have  been  scattered  upon  the  ground. 
In  silence,  deep,  profound,  awe-inspiring,  the  old  Indian  guard 
-  the  Last  of  the  Great  Chiefs  —  break  not  the  silence. 
Who  can  ask  death  to  retreat?  And  who  put  in  shackles  the 
decrees  of  destiny?  The  world  annals  contain  no  heroism  and 
no  bravery  more  lofty  and  enduring  than  that  furnished  by 
the  record  of  the  red  man.  But  the  summital  requirement 
is  at  hand.  These  old  heroes,  few  in  number,  must  with  their 
own  moccasined  feet  measure  the  distance  in  yards  and  inches 

212 


THE  FAREWELL  OF  THE  CHIEFS  213 

from  that  council  lodge  to  the  grave  —  the  grave  of  their  race. 
It  were  almost  sacrilege  to  invade  their  thoughts.  The  old 
question  of  the  carven  Sphinx  sat  on  each  bronze  face.  The 
far  cry  of  the  hills  and  plains  —  the  memories  of  other  days  - 
forged  new  lines  until  the  brow  of  each  solemn  warrior  seemed 
like  a  page  in  the  book  of  fate.  They  saw  again  the  slowly  ris 
ing  smoke  column,  as  in  the  sunrise  and  from  the  far  off  hilltop 
it  lifted  its  call  for  the  chiefs  to  assemble.  The  memory  of  the 
old  days  stirred  their  hearts.  Again  they  saw  the  flaming 
council  fires,  and  heard  once  more  the  burning  speech  of  their 
brothers  as  they  counselled  for  wrar  or  the  welfare  of  the  tribe. 
The  blood  of  youth  again  chased  in  their  veins  as  they  felt 
once  more  that  they  might  sit  in  council  as  in  the  old  time  and 
then  die  in  peace.  The  old  war-bonnets  and  war-shirts  were 
brought  out;  the  coup  stick  with  its  trembling  eagle  feathers, 
the  ancient  bows  and  arrows.  The  favourite  horse  was  blan 
keted,  and  the  journey  begun.  Old  scenes  and  landmarks 
were  made  new.  Here  they  crossed  a  river  through  whose 
rushing  waters  they  had,  in  other  days,  pursued  a  foe.  Over 
there  was  a  coulee  where  in  exciting  patience  they  had  sought 
to  ambush  the  enemy.  Yonder  was  a  plain  that  had  been  a 
battlefield.  Winding  over  the  pine-girt  hilltop  they  traced 
an  old  buffalo  trail.  And  now  they  had  reached  the  council 
lodge.  They  had  partaken  of  the  bread  and  meat.  They  had 


214  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

exchanged  greetings,  and  pledged  themselves  to  brotherhood 
and  peace.  How  familiar  it  all  seemed!  For  one  splendid 
moment  they  were  once  again  really  Indians.  The  same 
historic  river  wound  its  way  among  the  purple  hills  and 
through  the  lacework  of  alder  and  aspen  trees  that  like  a 
green  ribbon  festooned  the  valley.  How  peaceful  seemed  even 
this  place  —  once  also  a  place  of  battle.  And  now  the  far 
stretch  of  the  years  loomed  up:  boys  again,  trapping  foxes, 
learning  to  shoot  the  arrow  which  finally  found  its  mark  in  the 
buffalo  calf;  capturing  and  taming  the  wild  horse;  the  first  war 
party;  the  first  scalp,  and  its  consequent  honour  among  the 
tribe;  the  first  coup  counted;  the  eagle  that  was  shot  to  get  the 
coveted  feather  that  to  all  men  should  be  a  pledge  of  victory; 
then  the  love  for  an  Indian  maiden,  the  ponies  and  furs  and 
beadwork  willingly  given  in  exchange  for  this  new  love;  the 
making  of  a  new  home.  Thoughts  of  war  parties,  and  war's 
bitter  struggles;  other  coups  counted,  other  scalps  taken,  were 
thoughts  that  lighted  new  altar  fires.  In  imagination  vast 
herds  of  ponderous  buffalo  once  again  thundered  across  the 
plains,  and  the  exhilaration  of  the  chase  quickened  the  pulse 
beat,  only  to  give  place  to  the  tireless  lament  that  the  buffalo 
were  all  gone.  Memories  of  tribal  tragedies,  of  old  camping 
places,  of  the  coming  of  the  white  man,  of  broken  treaties, 
of  the  advent  of  the  soldiers  —  all  thronged  for  recognition; 


THE  FAREWELL  OF  THE  CHIEFS  215 

the  wigwam  around  which  happy  children  and  the  merry  round 
of  life  sped  on,  the  old  men,  their  counsellors  and  friends,  who 
had  gone  into  the  spirit  land,  and  now  this  was  to  be  the  last, 
the  very  last  council.  The  heart  grows  tense  with  emotion  as 
they  break  the  silence,  and  in  Indian  fashion  chief  looks  into 
the  face  of  chief,  and,  without  an  uttered  word,  they  pass  one 
by  one  through  the  doorway  that  leads  to  a  land  without  a 
horizon. 

The  prairie  grass  turned  to  brown,  the  trees  on  the  banks 
of  the  nearby  river  turning  to  crimson  and  orange,  the  Syrian 
blue  of  the  skies,  holding  here  and  there  a  mountainous  cloud, 
the  brilliant  sunshine  of  the  early  autumn  day,  all  served  to 
emphasize  and  revivify  the  splendid  mosaic  of  colouring  worn 
by  the  chieftains,  as,  without  the  mockery  of  speech,  they 
mounted  their  horses,  and  faced  their  final  destiny. 

The  Indian  is  a  superb  horseman.  Both  horse  and  rider 
seem  to  have  grown  together.  It  is  poetry  in  motion.  The 
brilliant  cavalcade  are  fast  leaving  the  old  council  lodge  in  the 
distance.  The  word  farewell  was  baptized  with  the  spirit  of 
peace,  and  now  as  they  ride  forth  the  banner  of  peace  floats 
over  them.  Peace  is  in  the  air.  Not  far  hence  there  is  a  river 
to  cross,  whose  waters  were  born  amid  the  snows  of  the  distant 
mountains,  and  the  river  bathed  in  sunlight  utters  its  jubila 
tions  of  peace.  Like  "an  army  with  banners"  they  enter 


216  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

the  shaded  defile  of  the  valley  —  cross  the  swiftly  flowing 
stream,  and  pass  out  upon  the  plain.  Weird  and  picturesque 
is  the  procession  as  the  long  line  of  horsemen  face  the  loneli 
ness  of  the  far-flung  line  of  desert  waste  —  the  flat  and  sombre 
serenity  of  sand  and  sage  and  cactus.  Clouds  of  dust  are 
lifted  from  the  immensity  of  the  arid  stretches,  like  smoke 
signals  to  the  matchless  immensity  of  the  sky.  The  burning 
haze,  the  molten  heavens,  the  weird  and  spearlike  cactus,  the 
valiant  horsemen,  hold  the  eye.  We  follow  their  trail  until 
they  are  almost  lost  to  view  in  the  drapery  that  enshrouds 
sand  and  sage  and  riders.  There  seems  now  to  be  a  tragic 
soul  roaming  these  infinite  wilds,  restless  and  burning  with 
passion,  the  companion  of  storms  and  the  herald  of  violent 
deeds. 

The  chiefs  bravely  emerge  from  these  echoless  silences, 
dust-covered  but  intrepid.  They  must  now  make  the  ascent 
of  abrupt  and  massive  bluffs.  The  summit  attained,  they 
pause  for  rest  and  retrospect.  The  trail  has  been  obliterated. 
Every  hoof -print  in  the  sands  has  been  erased.  The  trackless, 
yellow  expanse  now  assumes  alluring  miles  of  colour;  the 
royal  purple  of  the  shadows  seems  like  tinted  bands  binding 
all  the  intervale  back  yonder  to  the  far  distant  council  lodge. 
They  are  familiar  with  the  speech  of  the  granite  hills,  from 
whose  heights  they  now  view  the  prospect.  In  these  rocks,  so 


THE  FAREWELL  OF  THE  CHIEFS  217 

red  that  it  would  seem  as  though  the  molten  fires  had  not  yet 
cooled,  the  Indian  listens  to  the  tongues  of  ten  million  years. 
Earth's  heart  fires  had  here  and  over  there  split  the  land  and 
left  jagged  monuments  of  stone  and  red  ash  bearing  still  the 
tint  of  flame  which  had  been  cooled  by  the  breath  of  countless 
winters.  Still  subject  to  the  inner  and  absorbing  passion  of 
his  life,  the  Indian  made  an  altar  in  this  weird  sanctuary,  and 
waited  to  worship. 

But  for  the  Indian  the  path  is  forever  down  —  down  into  the 
shadowed  vale,  down  into  the  abysmal  canon,  balustraded 
with  sombre,  cold  gray  rocks  holding  in  the  far  recesses  secret 
streams  that  make  their  way  beneath  the  mountain  to  the 
cloven  rock  on  the  sunlit  slope.  Thither  then  they  rode, 
solemn  but  steadfast.  Once  and  again  they  turned  upon  their 
tired  steeds  to  look  back  upon  the  far-reaching  line  of  cliffs 
which  to  them  seemed  to  float  in  the  rising  tide  of  a  crimson 
sea.  Forward  and  ever  on  until  they  had  reached  the  hush 
of  the  spacious  prairies,  rolling  like  the  billows  of  the  ocean. 
Melancholy  broods  in  the  mind  when  these  limitless  and  un 
explored  stretches  sweep  before  the  eye  bounded  only  by  the 
horizon.  The  spirit  of  a  great  awe  stilled  the  souls  of  these 
men,  every  one,  because  added  to  the  monotone  of  the  land 
scape  they  must  heed  the  demands  for  endurance,  for  it  was 
again  "a  land  where  no  water  is."  Memory  is  at  times  the 


218  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

birth-hour  of  prophecy,  but  here  memory  clothes  the  present 
with  pain  and  loss,  and  for  them  prophecy  died  yesterday  and 
the  despair  of  a  to-morrow  writes  its  gloomy  headlines  upon 
every  advance  step  of  their  journey.  But  the  Indian  will  face 
it.  He  always  faces  death  as  though  it  were  a  plaything  of 
the  hour.  The  winds  on  these  prairies  always  travel  on  swift 
wing  --  they  are  never  still  —  they  are  full  of  spectral  voices. 
The  chiefs  have  left  the  council  lodge,  they  have  said  farewell, 
their  days  of  triumph  are  behind  them.  Thoughts  that  burn 
the  brain  held  the  weary  pilgrims. 

One  refreshing  thought  is  now  flung  at  them:  their  days  of 
journeying  have  brought  them  within  sight  of  water  —  water 
without  which  there  is  no  life.  That  long  green  fringe  winding 
under  the  brow  of  the  distant  hills  means  tree  growth.  The 
Indian  loves  the  brotherhood  of  trees.  Trees  grow  in  that 
desolate  landscape  only  on  the  borders  of  streams.  Toward 
the  water  and  welcome  shade  they  hasten.  Tired  beast  and 
tired  man  lave  in  the  lifegiving  flood.  The  horses  wade  in  it 
as  though  the  snows  had  melted  and  run  thither  to  caress  and 
refresh  them.  Oh,  the  exhilaration  of  water !  On  the  margin  of 
the  far  banks  the  camp  is  made  for  the  night.  There  is  witchery 
in  a  Western  night.  Myriads  upon  myriads  of  low-hung  stars, 
brilliant,  large  and  lustrous,  bend  to  warm  the  soul  and  light 
the  trail.  Under  these  night  lamps,  amid  the  speech  of  leaves 


THE  FAREWELL  OF  THE  CHIEFS  219 

and  the  rush  of  the  river,  they  bivouac  for  their  last  night,  bend 
ing  under  the  weight  of  thoughts  too  deep  for  tears.  In  the  haze 
of  a  broken  sleep  they  wrought  out  again  the  sorrows  of  their 
troubled  record.  When  the  morning  broke  through  the  dull 
gray  of  the  eastern  sky  rim,  he  would  be  a  heartless  surgeon  of 
emotions  who  attempted  to  probe  the  pathos  of  their  thoughts, 
and  a  dull  and  vulgar  rhetorician  who  should  attempt  to  parse 
the  fathomless  sorrow  of  their  speech. 

In  the  hush  of  the  new  morning  they  mounted,  and  set  forth 
upon  their  journey  over  the  Great  Divide.  All  Nature  seemed 
conscious  of  the  burden  weighing  to  the  earth  every  Indian 
thought,  and  trailing  in  the  dust  every  hope  of  the  race.  The 
birds  remembered  not  to  sing  —  the  prairie  dogs  ceased  their 
almost  continual  and  rasping  chatter.  The  very  horses 
seemed  to  loiter  and  fear  the  weary  miles  of  their  final  day  of 
travel.  The  hills,  the  sky,  the  very  light  of  the  noonday  sun 
gathered  to  themselves  a  new  atmosphere  and  spread  it  like 
a  mantle  over  this  travelling  host.  Tired  feet  now  press  the 
highest  dome  of  the  hills.  It  had  been  a  westward  climb. 
Full  in  their  faces,  as  though  to  canonize  the  moment,  the  god 
of  day  had  wrought  cloud  and  sky  into  a  miracle  of  sunset, 
transmuting  by  living  fire  the  brown  grasses  into  burnished 
gold  —  the  fading  sage  into  a  silver  glow,  and  the  gleam  of  the 
distant  river  into  the  red  of  wine.  The  scene  transfixed  them. 


220  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

Gladiators  of  other  days  became  helpless  children.  During 
the  solemn  suspense  of  this  tragic  moment,  waiting  in  confused 
and  wondering  silence,  their  faces  lighted  with  the  ominous 
sunset  sheen,  one  great  chief  uttered  speech  for  all:  "Brothers, 
the  West,  the  West!  We  alone  have  the  key  to  the  West, 
and  we  must  bravely  unlock  the  portals;  we  can  buy  no  lamp 
that  will  banish  the  night.  We  have  always  kept  our  time 
by  the  sun.  When  we  pass  through  the  gates  of  this  dying 
day,  we  shall  pass  into  a  sunless  land,  and  for  us  there  shall 
be  no  more  time,  a  forever-land  of  annihilating  darkness. " 

For  one  wistful  moment  they  looked  and  waited,  then  the 
hill  upbore  them  no  longer.  They  filed  down  the  narrow,  bar 
ren  ridge,  lined  on  either  hand  by  sullen  and  impassable  gulfs. 
Their  eagle  feathers  fluttered  from  war-bonnet  and  coup  stick, 
encarnadined  by  the  sun's  red  rays.  Steeper  and  more  rugged 
became  the  path  until  they  were  confronted  by  the  sharp  edge 
of  the  bluff.  There  was  danger  in  the  untrodden  descent. 
It  was  a  pathway  of  struggle. 

Once  in  the  valley 

They  said  farewell  forever. 

Thus  departed  the  Great  Chieftains, 

In  the  purple  mists  of  evening. 

The  Indian  composes  music  for  every  emotion  of  his  soul. 
He  has  a  song  for  the  Great  Mystery;  for  the  animals  of  the 


THE  FAREWELL  OF  THE  CHIEFS 

chase;  for  the  maiden  he  woos;  for  the  rippling  river.  His 
prayers  are  breathed  in  song.  His  whole  life  is  an  expression 
in  music.  These  songs  are  treasured  down  through  the  ages, 
and  old  age  teaches  youth  the  import  of  the  melody  so  that 
nothing  is  lost,  nothing  forgotten.  Haydn  wrote  his  "Crea 
tion,"  Beethoven  his  "Symphonies,"  Mendelssohn  his  "Songs 
Without  Words,"  Handel  gave  the  world  his  "Dead  March  in 
Saul,"  Mozart  was  commissioned  by  Count  Walsegg  to  pour 
his  great  soul  into  a  requiem;  during  its  composition  he  felt 
that  he  was  writing  the  dead  march  of  his  soul.  For  genera 
tions  it  has  been  sung  in  the  little  church  at  St.  Mark's,  where 
the  great  composer  lies  in  an  unknown  grave.  Had  the  Indian 
the  combined  soul  of  these  masters  in  music,  could  he  cull 
from  symphony  and  oratorio  and  requiem  and  dirge  the  master 
notes  that  have  thrilled  and  inspired  the  ages,  he  then  would 
falter  at  the  edge  of  his  task  in  an  attempt  to  register  the 
burden  of  his  lament,  and  utter  for  the  generations  of  men  the 
requiem  wrought  out  during  these  moments  of  passion  - 
a  passion  of  sorrow  so  sad  that  the  voice  of  it  must  ride  through 
the  width  of  the  sky,  and  conquer  the  thunder  of  the  fiercest 
tempest.  The  orchestral  grandeur  of  the  world's  great  com 
posers  is  the  child  of  genius.  They  reached  the  far  heights  of 
inspiration  in  a  few  isolated  instances  and  for  the  delight  of 
men.  The  Indian  composing  his  own  requiem  must  encom- 


222  THE  VANISHING  RACE 

pass  the  eternal  pathos  of  a  whole  race  of  mankind  riding  forth 
beyond  the  challenge  of  death.  It  is  well  that  the  Indian  does 
not  compose  this  death  march,  for  the  sorrow  of  it  would  hush 
all  lullabies,  and  banish  the  laughter  of  children. 

Napoleon  said  to  his  soldiers,  drawn  up  in  battle  line  on  the 
plains  of  Egypt,  in  sight  of  the  solemn  Sphinx  and  the  eternal 
pyramids:  "Forty  centuries  look  down  upon  your  actions 
to-day!"  Four  hundred  and  a  score  years  ago  Columbus 
looked  first  upon  the  red  man.  These  solemn  centuries  look 
down  upon  this  day;  look  down  upon  the  sheathed  sword,  the 
broken  coup  stick,  the  shattered  battle-axe,  the  deserted  wig 
wams,  the  last  red  men  mobilized  on  the  plains  of  death. 
Ninety  millions,  with  suffused  eyes,  watch  this  vanishing 
remnant  of  a  race,  whose  regnant  majesty  inspires  at  the  very 
moment  it  succumbs  to  the  iconoclasm  of  civilization.  It  is 
the  imposing  triumph  of  solitary  grandeur  sweeping  beyond 
the  reach  of  militant  crimes,  their  muffled  footfalls  reaching 
beyond  the  margin  of  an  echo. 

THE   END 


INDEX 


Acknowledgment,  v 

Adornment,  Indian,  19-25 

Agency,  Sub,  named  after  Chief  White 

Horse,  117 

Agents,  Gov't,  blamed,  141 
Animals,  wild,  Indian's  study  of,  17 
Annihilation,  2 
Apache,  Tribe  of  55 
Apache  John   Chief    (see    Koon-kah- 

za-chy),  55-57 
Arrows,  treatment  of,  137 
Art,  Indian's  love  of,  24 
Autumn  on  prairies,  273 

Bannock,  or  Sheep-Eater  War,  75 
Bath,  sacrament  of,  13 
Bear  Claws,  Indian's  use  of,  21 
Bear  Ghost,  Chief,  story  of,  120-123; 
greatest    event   in   life   of,    121;    as 
orator  and  councilor,  122,  123;  ad 
dressing  Last  Great  Indian   Council, 
244 

Beethoven,  280 

Belief  concerning  hereafter,  108,  156 
Bent's  Ford,  62 
Blackfoot,  Tribe  of,  131,  132 
Black  Hills,  92,  93,  97,  158,  216 
Bow  and  arrow,  child's  use  of,  78 
Brave    Bear,    Chief,    story    of,    61-63; 
esteem  for  white  man's  example,  63; 
impressions    of    Last    Great    Indian 
Council,  257,  258 
Bread  and  Meat,  247 
Bride,  adornment  of,  169 
Buffalo,  lament  for,  32,  33,  73,  76,  92, 
107,  140,  141,  258,  259,  267;  decima 
tion   of,   32,   151;  hunting,  73,   136, 
137;  immensity  of  herds,  92, 114,  272; 
hides,  uses  of,  138;  how  skinned,  138; 
feast  on,  139;  extinction,  white  man 


blamed  for,   141,   157;   methods   of 

trapping,  171 
Bull-Don't-Fall-Down,   impressions   of 

Last  Great  Indian  Council,  262 
Bull    Snake,    story   of,    128-130;    how 

named,   128;  scout  for  Crook,  129; 

savior    of    Crook's    command,    129, 

130;    wounded    at    battle    of   Little 

Rosebud,  130;  deserves  a  pension,  130 

Camp,  Indian,  33;  how  governed,  132- 
140 

Canada,  dispersion  of  Indians  to,  95 

Canyon,  solemnity  of,  275 

Cavalry,  Seventh  U.  S.,  192;  imperish 
able  glory  of,  234 

Cayuse,  Tribe  of,  64 

Ceremonials,  life  a  series  of,  13 

Cheyennes,  distinction  between  North 
ern  and  Southern,  61,  62;  Northern, 
Tribe  of,  153;  led  by  Chief  Two 
Moons  in  Custer  fight,  229;  counting 
dead  on  Custer  Field,  232,  233 

Chiefs,  Indian  assembly  of,  9;  notable, 
27;  story  of,  43,  44;  how  named,  120; 
the  farewell  of,  269-282 

Chief,  final  speech  of,  279 

Children,  Indian,  nature  a  text  book'of, 
19;  at  play,  34;  Indian's  love  of,  3t; 
Indian's  care  of,  37;  sports  of,  37,  38; 
playing  buffalo,  139,  140 

Church,  founded  and  built  by  Chief 
White  Horse,  116 

Civilization,  results  of,  41;  iconoclasm 
of,  282 

Clothing,  early  Indian,  65,  170 

Coffee,  introduction  of  among  Indians. 
157 

Colours,  how  suggested,  24,  25 

Comanche,  Tribe  of,  53 


223 


224 


INDEX 


Commissioner,  Indian,  9 
Communication,  methods  of,  26 
Communion,  and  Indian,  247 
Consumption,  ravages  of,  84, 107;  school 

children  dying  of,  116. 
Contents,  vii,  viii 
Conyer,  Major,  Agent,  70 
Costume,  character  of  Indian,  19,  20,  21 
Council,  Indian,  legislative,  purpose  of, 

248;  force  of  in  administration,  249 
Council  Fires,  Seven  Great,  120 
Council,  Great  Platte  River,  158 
Council,  Last  Great  Indian,  prepara 
tions  for,  assemblage  of  eminent 
Indian  chiefs,  9;  account  of,  236-250; 
dominant  note  peace,  236-250;  sig 
nals  for,  238,  239;  chiefs  approaching, 
239;  Chief  Plenty  Coups  receiving 
chiefs,  240;  addressed  by  Chief 
Plenty  Coups,  240;  addressed  by 
Chief  Two  Moons,  240;  addressed  by 
Chief  Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa,  241;  ad 
dressed  by  Chief  Umapine,  242;  ad 
dressed  by  Chief  Red  Cloud,  242; 
addressed  by  Mountain  Chief,  244; 
addressed  by  Chief  Bear  Ghost,  244; 
addressed  by  Chief  Koon-kah-za-chy, 
245;  addressed  by  Curly,  Custer 
Scout,  245-246;  council  lodge  located 
two  miles  from  Custer  battlefield, 
246;  custom  in  seating  Indians,  246, 
247;  council  pipe,  247;  solemnity  of 
last  hour,  249,  250;  impressions  of, 
252-267;  apprehensions  concerning, 
252;  council  school  of  peace,  252, 
253;  impressions  of  Chief  Plenty 
Coups,  253-255 ;  impressions  of  Curly, 
Custer  scout,  255;  impressions  of 
Chief  Red  Whip,  256;  impresisions  of 
Chief  Koon-kah-za-chy,  256;  im 
pressions  of  Chief  Running  Bird,  256, 
257;  impressions  of  Chief  Brave  Bear, 
257,  258;  impressions  of  Chief  Uma 
pine,  258,  259;  impressions  of  Chief 
Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa,  259;  impressions  of 
Chief  Pretty  Voice  Eagle,  259-261; 
impressions  of  Chief  Running  Fisher, 


261,  262;  impressions  of  Chief  Bull- 
Don't-Fall-Down,  262;  impressions  of 
Chief  Two  Moons,  262,  263;  impres 
sions  of  Chief  Red  Cloud,  263,  264; 
impressions  of  Mountain  Chief,  264, 
265;  Indian's  estimate  of  greatest 
chiefs  attending,  264,  265;  impres 
sions  of  Chief  White  Horse,  265,  266, 
267;  hour  of  grave  thoughts,  269-273 

Council  lodge,  primitive,  9,  269 

Council  pipe,  248,  269 

Council  of  Warriors,  lodge,  237;  ad 
dressed  by  Chief  Plenty  Coups,  237; 
located  two  miles  from  Custer  battle 
field,  237 

Coup  Stick,  adornment  of,  30,  31; 
stepping  stone  to  chieftainship,  150; 
army  of,  247 

Crazy  Dogs,  134,  136 

Crazy  Horse,  214 

Creation,  Indian's  idea  of,  16,  172 

Crook,  General,  at  Battle  of  Little 
Rosebud,  83,  129,  211;  Indian's 
name  for,  Three  Stars,  83;  treaty 
with,  97;  Bull  Snake,  scout  for,  129; 
command  saved  by  Bull  Snake,  129, 
130 

Cross  marking  spot  where  Custer  fell, 
192 

Crow,  Tribe  of,  45,  128,  165,  175,  178, 
185 

Curly,  Custer  Scout,  story  of,  178-184; 
characteristics  of,  178;  oratory  of, 
178,  179;  boyhood  days  of,  180; 
enlisting  as  scout,  181;  with  his 
fellow  scouts,  183;  first  meeting  with 
Custer,  183;  story  of  the  Custer 
fight,  202-209;  meets  Custer,  203; 
estimate  of  Custer,  203;  on  the  war 
trail,  204;  report  of  Custer  disaster 
to  General  Terry,  208,  209;  address 
ing  Last  Great  Indian  Council,  245, 
246;  love  for  Custer,  246;  impressions 
of  Last  Great  Indian  Council,  255 

Custer,  General,  Chief  Pretty  Voice 
Eagle's  impressions  of ,  95, 96 ;  estimate 
of  by  White-Man-Runs-Him,  201, 


INDEX 


202;  Curly's  estimate  of,  203;  mis 
sion  declared,  205;  impressions  of  by 
Goes- Ahead,  210;  makes  promises, 
211;  forced  march,  212;  at  prayer, 
212;  releases  Goes-Ahead,  212;  In 
dian's  reason  for  not  scalping,  215, 
216;  Indian's  purpose  in  fighting, 
227;  inscription  on  stone  marking 
spot  where  he  fell,  228;  Curly's  love 
of,  246 

Custer  battlefield,  desolation  of,  193, 
194;  Indian  positions  verified,  194; 
positions  verified  by  Chief  Runs-the- 
Enemy,  224 

Custer  fight  (called  by  the  Indians, 
Battle  of  The  Little  Big  Horn),  ret 
icence  of  Indians  concerning,  61; 
Chief  Runs-the-Enemy's  participa 
tion  in,  83;  Indian's  story  of,  192-234; 
controversy  over,  192;  story  of  scouts 
marks  epoch,  194;  story  of,  as  told 
by  White-Man-Runs-Him,  195-202; 
Custer's  spirit,  198,  199;  he  divides 
his  command,  198,  208,  212;  Custer's 
release  of  his  scouts  on  the  battlefield, 
199;  a  council  of  war,  201;  story  of,  as 
told  by  Curly,  202-209;  Custer  moves 
on  the  enemy,  207;  story  of,  as  told 
by  Goes- Ahead,  209-214;  as  described 
by  Chief  Red  Cloud,  214-216;  last 
stand  of  Custer,  215,  232;  cause  of, 
described  by  Chief  Red  Cloud, 
216;  described  by  chief  Runs-the- 
Enemy,  216-228;  Custer  surprises 
Indian  camp,  217;  Custer  attacked 
by  Sioux,  219;  Custer  attacked  by 
Cheyennes,  222;  Custer  horses  cap 
tured,  223;  packtrain,  225;  Indian's 
estimate  of,  227;  number  of  Indians 
killed  at,  228;  account  of  by  Chief 
Two  Moons,  228-234;  line  of  march 
described  by  Chief  Two  Moons,  229; 
Chief  Two  Moons'  challenge  to  the 
Cheyennes,  230;  a  pandemonium,  232 ; 
Cheyennes  counting  dead  on  the 
field,  232,  233. 

Custer  scouts,  story  of  the  surviving, 


162-190;  gathered  about  Custer  cross, 
195 

Dakota,  Tribe  of,  120 

Dance,  deeds  of  valour  enacted  in,  17 

Dead,  burial  of,  15,  16,  20;  how  painted, 
20;  how  counted  on  battlefield,  171, 
172,  232,  233;  in  burning  tepees,  227; 
Cheyennes'  method  of  burying,  156 

Death,  how  Indian  faces,  276;  plains  of, 
282 

Dedication,  Rodman  Wanamaker,  iii 

Desert,  arid  stretches  of,  274 

Diet,  Indian,  34 

Disguises,  Indian,  29,  30 

Dixon,  Dr.,  work  of  commended  by 
Chief  Umapine,  67,  68;  work  of  like 
that  done  by  General  Miles  —  Chief 
Two  Moons!  160;  Chief  Plenty  Coups 
values  his  assembling  of  Council,  253; 
Curly  esteems  work  great  accomplish 
ment,  255;  fit  man  to  do  this  kind  of 
work  —  Chief  Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa,  259 

Dogs,  Indian's  love  of  36,  37;  origin  of 
among  Indians,  171 

Dog  Soup,  37 

Eagle  feathers,  how  used,  23,  30,  31,  44 

Early  settlers,  white,  67 

Earth,  mother  of  Indian,  108 

Echo,  beyond  margin  of,  282 

Elk  teeth,  Indian  woman's  use  of,    21 

Emigrant  trains,  66,  91,  93 

England,  contest  with  Indian,  27 

Expeditions  to  North  American  Indian, 
difficulties  of,  8,  9;  appreciated  by 
Indians,  67;  Chief  Two  Moons'  ap 
preciation  of,  241;  scope  of,  252 
(for  Indian's  estimate  of  see  chapter 
on  Indian  Impressions  of  Last  Great 
Indian  Council,  252-267);  greatest 
thought  of  our  time  —  Curly,  255; 
record  of  imperishable  —  Chief  Tin- 
Tin-Meet-Sa,  259;  great  idea  —  Chief 
Pretty  Voice  Eagle,  260;  immortality 
of  record  of,  261, 264;  Indian's  interest 
in  work  of,  262 

Extermination,  fires  of,  3 


INDEX 


Farewell  of  the  Chiefs,  269-282 

Feuds,  Indian,  195,  196 

Folklore  tales;  Teton  Sioux  the 
Spider,  told  by  Chief  Runs-the- 
Enemy,  85-89;  Sioux,  The  Spider  and 
the  Geese,  109,  110;  Man  and  the 
Wolf,  110-112;  told  by  Chief  Pretty 
Voice  Eagle;  Yankton  Sioux,  Wolf 
and  Buffalo,  told  by  Chief  White 
Horse,  117-119;  Crow,  Old  Man 
Coyote,  story  of  the  creation,  told 
by  White-Man-Runs-Him,  172-174 

Footgear,  Indian,  22 

Forest,  tabernacle  of,  11 

Fort  Laramie,  93,  94,  96 

Fort  Lincoln,  95 

Fort  Phil  Kearney,  149 

Fort  Rice,  96,  97 

Fox,  how  hunted,  145-148 

Fox  song,  145 

France,  contest  with  Indian,  27 

Furs,  sale  of,  114 

Gall,  Chief,  27 

Gambling,  Indian's  practice  of,  38 

Game,  killing  of,  92 

Geronimo,  55 

God,  Indian's  name  for,  156 

Goes- Ahead,  Custer  scout,  story  of, 
185-190;  characteristics  of,  185;  boy 
hood  warfare,  185;  how  named,  185; 
boyhood  sports,  185,  186;  on  the 
warpath,  186,  187;  feat  in  rescuing 
Indian,  189;  how  he  became  a  scout, 
189;  story  of  Custer  fight,  209-214; 
meets  Custer,  210;  impresssions  of 
Custer,  210;  discovers  Sioux  camp, 
211;  released  by  Custer,  212 

Government,  greater  than  Indian,  264 

Great  Mystery  (see  religion),  11,  12 

Gros  Ventres,  Tribe  of,  48, 124 

Hairy  Moccasin,  Custer  Scout,  story 
of,  175-177;  in  advance  of  General 
Custer  and  his  scouts,  176;  savior 
of  Custer,  177 

Handel,  280 


Haydn,  280 

Hides,  how  tanned,  22,  138;  symbols 

painted  on,  22;  use  of,  138 
Hills,  speech  of,  275 
Home,  Indian,  where  built,  33 
Home  life,  Indian,  33-41 
Hope  Up,  Canada,  battle  of,  141 
Horses,    buffalo,    136;    stealing,    169; 

Indian  raid  for,  188 
Horseman,  Indian  a  superb,  273 
Hospitality,  Indian's,  40,  41 
Hunt,  ready  for  buffalo,  136 

Illustrations,  ix-xii 

Imprints,  Indian,  1-41 

Indian,  life  of  a  series  of  tragedies,  1; 
Spartan  courage  of,  2;  yesterdays  of, 
2;  failure  to  surrender,  3;  dominance 
of  this  type  of  colour,  3;  race  fast  los 
ing  typical  characteristics,  4;  privilege 
of  studying  fast  passing  away,  4; 
justice  to,  4;  rapid  decrease  in  popu 
lation,  4,  5;  record  of,  5;  deserves  a 
monument,  5;  outside  the  pale  of  com 
merce,  5;  had  his  being  in  Nature's 
Temple,  6;  the  universe  a  sounding- 
board  of  his  emotions,  6;  face  of 
bronze,  7;  inner  life  of,  7;  averse 
to  being  photographed,  7;  supersti 
tions  of,  7;  difficulty  in  gaining  con 
fidence  of,  7,  8;  hazards  of  expeditions 
to,  8,  9;  council,  how  assembled,  9; 
life  a  mosaic  of  rite  and  ritual,  10; 
religion  of,  10-17;  worships  at  the 
altar  of  Nature,  11;  all  signs  sym 
bolic,  12;  magic  of  medicine,  12; 
life  a  long  series  of  ceremonials,  13; 
bath  a  sacrament,  13;  sweat  bath  a 
ceremonial,  13-14;  pipe  a  ceremonial 
instrument,  14;  how  he  buries  his 
dead,  15;  methods  of  mourning,  15, 
16;  personal  possessions  of  deceased 
buried  with  them,  15;  sublime  idea 
of  creation,  16;  tribal  traditions 
handed  down  in  dance,  17;  forest  lore 
a  text  book,  17;  child,  literature  of, 
18;  communes  with  the  stars,  18; 


INDEX 


227 


love  of  growing  things,  19;  adorn 
ment  of,  19-25;  adornment  index  to 
character  of,  19;  motive  of  adornment 
20;  use  of  paint,  20;  method  of  shav 
ing,  21;  use  of  elk  teeth,  armlets, 
bracelets,  belts,  necklaces,  etc.,  21; 
inner  life  and  record  of  deeds  pictured 
on  hides  of  animals,  22;  tribe  desig 
nated  by  moccasins,  22;  war-shirt 
how  marked,  22,  23;  glory  of  war- 
bonnet,  23;  colour  scheme  how  derived 
24,  25;  warfare,  25-33;  war  star,  25; 
implements  of  warfare,  26;  methods 
of  communication,  26;  contest  of  four 
great  nations  against,  27;  tragedy  of, 
27;  consummate  generalship  of,  27; 
oratory  strongest  weapon  of,  28; 
science  of  warfare,  28,  29;  methods  of 
disguise,  29,  30;  coup  stick,  adorn 
ment  and  significance  of,  30,  31;  un 
reconciled  to  loss  of  buffalo,  32,  33, 
73,  76,  92,  107,  140,  141;  results  of 
extinction  of  buffalo,  32,  33;  home 
life,  33-41 ;  home, where  and  how  built, 
33;  woman,  position  of  in  home, 
34-37;  children,  34-37;  tepee  an  ideal 
habitation,  34;  decoration  of  tepee, 
35,  36;  significance  of  medicine  tepee, 
36;  owns  an  army  of  dogs,  36;  tender 
treatment  of  children,  37;  treatment 
of  papoose,  38;  method  of  wooing,  38; 
39,  154,  155;  moral  code  of,  39,  40; 
hospitality  of,  40,  41;  defies  civiliza 
tion,  43;  claimed  same  liberty  as 
signers  of  Declaration  of  Indepen 
dence,  44;  stoicism  of,  55;  test  of  char 
acter,  56;  teaching  boys  the  war 
spirit,  57,  77,  78;  love  of  primitive 
conditions,  59;  aversion  to  any  com 
munication  regarding  Custer  fight 
61;  adaptation  to  white  man's  ways, 
63;  traditions  handed  down,  65; 
early  clothing  of,  65,  66;  how  named, 
79,  120,  185;  scouts,  intrepid  bravery 
of,  83,  129;  as  policemen,  84;  advised 
to  farm,  84;  love  of  story  telling,  85, 
109;  purpose  in  killing  white  people, 


91,  92;  sympathy  for  wounded  animal 
causes  massacre,  93,  94;  lament  over 
broken  treaties,  97;  capable  of  inces 
sant  struggle  against  foe,  101,  102; 
reasoning  concerning  civilization,  107; 
belief  concerning  hereafter,  108,  156; 
life  complex,'  112;  appreciation  of 
white  man's  treatment,  117;  rever 
ence  for  Sun  Dance,  126,  127;  camp, 
how  governed,  132-140;  care  and 
preservation  of  arrows,  137;  treat 
ment  of  mother-in-law,  139;  rejoicing 
over  battle,  144;  final  love  of  peace, 
152;  leadership,  immortality  of,  153; 
name  for  locomotive,  156;  blames 
white  man  for  destruction  of  buffalo, 
157;  calls  President  of  United  States 
"Grandfather,"  158;  sense  of  humour, 
159;  objection  to  leasing  land,  161; 
scouts,  hazards  of,  163;  love  of  land, 
164,  195;  boys,  diversions  of,  166, 
167;  love  of  athletics,  168;  designs 
for  paint,  where  derived,  169;  where 
first  found  dogs,  171 ;  computation  of 
time,  172;  discovery  of  mule,  174; 
scouts,  fidelity  of,  176,  177;  splendid 
oratory  of,  178,  179,  237,  238  (for 
specimens  of  oratory  see  chapters  on 
Last  Great  Indian  Council  and  Indian 
Impressions  of  the  Last  Great  In 
dian  Council);  love  of  sports,  186; 
propensity  for  stealing  horses,  188; 
nickname  for  General  Terry,  195; 
story  of  Custer  fight,  192-234;  con 
fidence  in  himself,  202;  impressions  of 
Reno,  220;  attitude  in  battle,  221, 
224,  230,  232;  satisfaction  over  Custer 
fight,  228;  methods  of  calling  council, 
237-239;  how  received  first  white 
man,  244;  communion,  247;  smoking 
council  pipe,  248;  council  legislative 
hall  of  tribes,  248;  oratory,  effective 
ness  of,  248,  249;  Impressions  of  Last 
Great  Indian  Council,  252-267;  ap 
preciation  of  kindness,  258;  appre 
ciation  of  education,  260;  apprecia 
tion  of  record  made  by  expedition, 


INDEX 


262,  263,  264  (see  chapter  on  Indian 
Impressions  of  Last  Great  Indian 
Council,  252-267);  world  revolves  for 
last  time  upon  its  axis,  269;  in  re 
miniscent  mood,  270,  seq.;  a  superb 
horseman,  273;  listens  to  the  tongues 
of  ten  million  years,  275 ;  path  forever 
downward,  275;  how  he  faces  death, 
276;  love  of  trees,  277;  facing  the  sun 
set,  279;  composes  music  for  every 
emotion  of  his  soul,  280;  last  requiem, 
281;  a  vanished  race,  282 
Iron  Horse,  Indian's  name  for  loco 
motive,  156;  first  ride  of  Chief  White 
Horse  on,  266,  267 

Joseph,  Chief,  27 

Kiowa,  Tribe  of,  58 

Koon-kah-za-chy,  Chief,  story  of,  55-57; 
brought  up  in  war  school,  56;  visit  to 
Washington,  57;  principles  of  peace, 
57;  addressing  Last  Great  Indian 
Council,  245;  impressions  of  Last 
Great  Indian  Council,  256 

Lame  Bull,  Chief,  132 

Land,    allotments    of,    107;    Indian's 

value  of,  196,   197 
Liberty,  Indian's  despoiled,  44 
Little    Big   Horn    (now    named  Little 

Horn),  Valley  of,  192 
Little  Big  Horn,  battle  of  (synonomous 

with    Custer    fight),      reticence    of 

Indians  concerning,  61 
Little  Rosebud,  battle  of,  80-83,  129 
Locomotive,  Indian's  name  for,  156 
Look,  backward,  1 
Looking  Glass,  Chief,  27 

Massacre  at  Fort  Phil  Kearney,  149 

Massacre,  caused  by  cow,  93,  94 

Maxim,  Indians,  257 

Meal,  Indian,  34 

Medicine,  Indian,  12;  tepee,  36 

Memories,  old-time,  271,  272 

Mendelssohn,  280 


Miles,  General,  Chief  Two  Moons'  love 
for,  160;  advocating  peace,  160,  161; 
Goes-Ahead  scouting  under,  189 

Mists,  purple  of  evening,  280 

Moccasins,  22 

Monument,  Indian  deserves,  5 

Morals,  Indian's  code  of,  39,  40 

Mountain  Chief,  story  of,  131-148; 
characteristics  of,  131,  132;  greatest 
event  in  life  of,  141;  description  of 
battle  between  Blackfeet  and  Crees, 
141-143;  boyhood  sports,  145-148; 
addressing  Last  Great  Indian  Council 
244;  impressions  of  Last  Great 
Indian  Council,  264,  265 

Mourning,  Indian  manner  of,  15,  16; 
mutilation,  sign  of,  16 

Mozart,  £•  80 

Mule,  origin  of,  174 

Music,  Indian's  composition  of,  280; 
Indian's  life  an  expression  of,  280 

Napoleon,  281 

Nature,  Indian  found  sanctuary  in,  5, 
6;  Indian's  worship  of,   6;  Indian's 
library,  17;  Indian's  study  of,  17,  18 
Nez  Perce,  battle  with,  189 
Night,  witchery  of  Western,  277 
No-Hip-Bone,  General  Terry,  195,  196, 
197 

Oratory,  Indian,  28,  150,  178,  179,  180; 
of  Chief  Plenty  Coups,  237,  238; 
effectiveness  of,  248  (for  specimens  of 
oratory  see  chapters  on  Last  Great 
Indian  Council  and  Indian  Impres 
sions  of  the  Last  Great  Indian  Coun 
cil) 

Paints,  use  of,  20;  designs  of  acquired 

by  dream,  169 
Pappoose,  cradle  of,  38 
Patrick  Henry,  43 
Pawnees,  62 
Peace,  dominant  note  of  Last  Great 

Indian     Council,     236-250;     Curly 's 

pledge  of,  246;  pipe  of,  248 


INDEX 


229 


Personae,  xiii,  xiv 

Photographing  the  Indian,  7;  Indian's 
superstitution  regarding,  7 

Pierce,  Franklin,  President,  132 

Pipe,  uses  of,  13,  14;  medicine,  use  of  in 
moving  camp,  133,  135;  of  peace,  248 

Plenty  Coups,  Chief,  life  of,  45-47; 
boyhood  days  of,  45;  how  named,  46; 
addressing  Last  Great  Indian  Coun 
cil,  240;  impressions  of  Last  Great 
Indian  Council,  253-255 

Population,  Indian,  decrease  of,  4,  5 

Post  Office,  named  for  Chief  White 
Horse,  117 

Prairies,  melancholy  monotone  of,  276 

Prairie  Dogs,  278 

Prayer  Rug,  22 

President,  Indian's  name  for,  158 

Pretty  Voice  Eagle,  Chief,  life  of, 
90-112;  characteristics  of,  90;  Im 
pressions  of  Custer,  95,  96;  truthful 
story,  97;  engaged  in  seventy  raids 
and  battles,  97;  engaged  in  fierce 
battle,  98-102;  description  of  battle 
between  Sioux  and  Flatheads,  103- 
106;  acceptance  of  Christianity,  107, 
108;  worship  of  sun,  108;  folklore 
tales,  the  Spider  and  the  Geese,  and 
the  Man  and  the  Wolf,  109-112; 
impressions  of  Last  Great  Indian 
Council,  259,  260,  261 

Pyramids,  281 

Quanah  Parker,  staff  of,  53 

Race,  white  the  conquering,  3;  Indian 
a  vanishing,  281,  282 

Railroad,  first,  91 

Rain-in-the-Face,  214,  216 

Records,  value  of  Indian,  4;  how  made, 
22 

Red  Cloud,  Chief,  27;  story  of,  149-152; 
oratory  of,  150;  born  leader,  150; 
earning  his  coup  stick,  151;  greatest 
event  in  life  of,  151,  152;  an  advocate 
of  peace,  152;  story  of  Custer  fight, 
214-216;  addressing  The  Last  Great 
Indian  Council,  242;  impressions  of 


Last  Great  Indian  Council,  263,  264 

Red  Cloud,  Chief,  the  elder,  149,  150 

Rod  Whip,  Chief,  life  of,  48-52;  greatest 
event  in  life  of,  48-50;  impressions  of 
the  Last  Great  Indian  Council,  256 

Religion,  Indian's,  10,  17 

Reno,  fight  described  by  White-Man- 
Runs-Him,  199;  fight  described  by 
Goes-Ahead,  213,  214;  pushed  back 
by  Sioux,  215;  fight  described  by 
Chief  Runs-the-Enemy,  220,  221 

Requiem,  Indian's,  280,  281 

Revenge,  Indian's,  94 

Revolution,  American,  principles  of,  43, 
44 

Rocks,  Indian's  altar,  275 

Running  Bird,  Chief,  life  of,  58-60  (see 
Ta-ne-haddle) 

Running  Fisher,  Chief,  story  of,  124-1 27; 
engaged  in  twenty  battles,  124; 
greatest  event  in  life  of,  125;  death 
of,  127;  impressions  of  the  Last 
Great  Indian  Council,  261,  262 

Runs-the-Enemy,  Chief,  story  of,  77-89; 
first  war  party,  78;  deeds  of  heroism, 
79;  folklore  tale,  the  Spider,  85-89; 
story  of  the  Custer  fight,  216-228; 
in  command  of  band  of  Two-Cattle 
Sioux  at  Custer  fight,  217 

Schools,  Indian's  contest  over,  92,  93 

Scouts,  Cheyenne,  81;  Crow,  83;  in 
trepid  bravery  of,  83,  129;  story  of 
the  surviving  Custer,  162-190;  peril 
ous  vocation  of,  163,  164;  Crow 
most  efficient,  164,  203;  choosing,  183, 
197;  hardships  of,  196 

Shells,  Indian's  use  of,  21 

Signal,  smoke,  26,  239 

Sign  Language,  only  method  of  com 
munication,  9;  Chief  Plenty  Coups 
addresses  Last  Great  Indian  Council 
in  the,  240;  Chief  Two  Moons  ad 
dresses  Last  Great  Indian  Council 
in  the,  240;  Chief  Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa 
addresses  Last  Great  Indian  Council 
in  the,  241 ;  Chief  Umapine  addresses 


230 


INDEX 


Last  Great  Indian  Council  in  the, 
241;  Mountain  Chief  addresses  Last 
Great  Indian  Council  in  the,  244; 
Chief  Bear  Ghost  addresses  Last 
Great  Indian  Council  in  the,  244; 
Chief  Koon-kah-za-chy  addresses 
Last  Great  Indian  Council  in  the, 
245;  Curly,  Custer  Scout,  addresses 
Last  Great  Indian  Council  in  the, 
245,  246;  enabling  conversation  be 
tween  Chiefs  of  all  tribes,  255,  256; 
rejoicing  in  power  of,  260;  pleasure 
of,  264 

Signs,  symbol  of,  12 

Siouan  or  Dakota  family,  120 

Sioux,  camp  discovered  by  Custer 
Scouts,  198,  205,  206;  method  of  war 
fare,  215 

Sioux,  Tribe  of,  149 

Sioux,  Crow  Creek,  Tribe  of,  120 

Sioux,  Ogallalla,  Tribe  of,  149 

Sioux,  Teton,  Tribe  of,  77 

Sioux,  Yankton,  Tribe  of,  90,  114 

Sitting  Bull,  Chief,  27,  214;  exhortation 
of  at  Custer  fight,  221,  222 

Sky,  Indian's  study  of,  18,  19 

Soldiers,  U.  S.,  value  of  in  Indian  Ser 
vice,  163;  mutilated  on  Custer  Field, 
225;  burning  Indian  tepees,  227 

Sorrow,  epic  of,  44 

Spain,  contest  with  Indian,  27 

Sports,  boyhood,  145 

Spotted  Tail,  Chief,  15,  27,  94 

Stars,  Indian's  study  of,  18,  19;  war,  25 

Storm,  great  spring,  236 

Study  of  Indian,  3 

Sun,  worship  of,  108;  Indian's  father,  11 

Sun  Dance,  custom  explained,  126,  127 

Sweat  Bath,  13,  14 

Symbols,  19 

Tactics  of  Indian  warfare,  29,  30 

Taft,  President,  Chief  Umpiane's  refer 
ence  to,  68 

Tall  Bear,  Chief,  62 

Ta-ne-haddle,  Chief,  story  of,  58-60; 
characteristics  of,  58;  love  of  old 


time  tepee,  58,  59;  maxim  of,  60,  257; 
impressions  of  Last  Great  Indian 
Council,  256,  257 

Tepee,  model  dwelling,  34,  85;  decor 
ation  of,  35,  36;  place  of  honour  in, 
35;  advantages  of,  58,  59 

Terry,  General,  engaging  Indian  Scouts, 
181,  182;  called  by  Indians  "No- 
Hip-Bone,"  195;  White-Man-Runs- 
Him  conducts  Custer  to,  197;  receives 
tidings  of  Custer  disaster,  200,  208, 
209;  Goes-Ahead,  scout  for,  209; 
forced  march  to  Custer  Field,  226, 
233 

Timbo,  Chief,  story  of,  53,  54 

Time,  Indian's  method  of  computing, 
172 

Tin-Tin-Meet-Sa,  Chief,  story  of,  74-76; 
characteristics  of,  74,  as  U.  S.  scout, 
74,  75;  greatest  event  in  life  of,  75; 
lament  at  loss  of  buffalo,  76;  address 
ing  Last  Great  Indian  Council,  241; 
impressions  of  Last  Great  Indian 
Council,  259 

Trading  Post,  114 

Travois,  136;  drawn  by  dogs,  171; 
uses  of,  171 

Treachery,  Indian's  punishment  for, 
136 

Treaty,  Government,  at  Fort  Laramie, 
94,  95,  96;  at  Fort  Rice,  96,  97;  of 
1855,  signed  by  Mountain  Chief  and 
Chief  Lame  Bull,  132 

Trees,  Indian's  love  of,  277 

Two  Moons,  Chief,  27;  story  of,  153- 
161;  leader  of  Cheyennes  against 
Custer,  153;  characteristics  of,  153; 
belief  in  hereafter,  156;  many  times 
wounded,  159;  longing  for  buffalo, 
161;  story  of  Custer  fight,  228-234; 
how  dressed  in  Custer  fight,  229; 
addressing  Last  Great  Indian  Coun 
cil,  240;  impressions  of  Last  Great 
Indian  Council,  262,  263 

Umpiane,  Chief,  story  of,  64-73;  splen 
did  dress  of,  64;  appreciation  of 


INDEX 


231 


Wanamaker  Expedition,  67,  68;  as 
scout,  71;  engaged  in  war,  70-72; 
impressions  of  first  emigrant  train, 
66, 67;  lament  for  buffalo,  73;  address 
ing  Last  Great  Indian  Council,  242; 
impressions  of  Last  Great  Indian 
Council,  258,  259 
Unatillas,  Tribe  of,  74 

Valentine,  Commissioner,   Chief  Uma- 

pine's  reference,  68 
Valour,  imperishable,  of  Custer's  men, 

234 
Vanity,  Indian's,  20 

Wanamaker,  Rodman,  expeditions  to 
the  North  American  Indian,  diffi 
culties,  of  8,  9;  appreciated  by 
Indians,  67;  Chief  Two  Moons'  appre 
ciation  of,  241;  scope  of,  252  (for 
Indian's  estimate  of  see  chapter  on 
Indian  Impressions  of  Last  Great 
Indian  Council,  252-267);  greatest 
thought  of  our  time  —  Curly,  255 ; 
record  of  imperishable  —  Chief  Tin- 
Tin-Meet-Sa,  259;  great  idea  —  Chief 
Pretty  Voice  Eagle,  260;  immortality 
of  record  of,  261,  264;  Indian's  in 
terest  in  work  of,  262 

War,  implements  of,  26 

Warfare,  Indian,  25-33;  science  of,  28, 
29;  school  for  children,  57,  77,  78 


War-bonnet,  how  made,  23,  24 
War-shirt,  symbolism  of,  22,  23;    how 

made,  24 

Washington,  Indian  delegates  to,  158 
W'hite  Horse,  Chief,  story  of,  114-119; 
learning  to  fight,  115;  as  farmer,  115, 
116;  acting  as  missionary,  116;  sub- 
agency  named  after,  117;  Post  Office 
named  for,  117;  folklore  tale,  Wolf, 
and  Buffalo,  117-119;  impressions  of 
Last  Great  Indian  Council,  265-267; 
impressions  of  first  ride  on  railway 
train,  266,  267;  impressions  of  civili 
zation,  267;  aspiration  for  Indians, 
267 

White  man,  Indian's  name  for,  157 
White-Man-Runs-Him,  Chief  of  Custer 
scouts,  story  of,  165-172;  character 
istics  of,  165,  166;  boyhood  days,  166, 
167;  athletics  of,  168,  folklore  tale, 
Old  Man  Coyote,  172-174;  horseless 
scout,  182;  story  of  Custer  fight, 
195-209;  meets  Custer,  197;  attitude 
after  Custer  was  slain,  200;  estimate 
of  Custer,  201,  202 
White  people;  slain,  91,  92;  Indian's 

estimate  of,  170 

Woman,  Indian,  master  of  lodge,  37 
Wolves,  killing,  185,  186 
Wooing,    Indian,    38,    39;     Cheyenne 
methods  of,  154,  155 

Yellowstone,  25 


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